four  OF 

DUE 

SEASON 


ADELINE 
SERGEANT 


Hppletons' 
Uown  anfc  Country 


No.  176 


OUT  OF   DUE   SEASON 


OUT  OF   DUE  SEASON 


A   MEZZOTINT 


BY 

ADELINE   SERGEANT 

AUTHOR    OF 
THE    MISTRESS    OF    Qf'EST,    THE    STORY    OF    A    PENITENT    SOUL,    ETC. 


.  .  .  "Spirits  are  not  finely  touched 
But  to  fine  issues"  . 


NEW     YORK 

D.    APPLETON    AND    COMPANY 
1895 


COPYRIGHT,  1895, 
BY  D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY. 


OUT   OF   DUE   SEASON. 


I. 

"  Little,  unremembered  acts " 

IT  was  a  Saturday  afternoon.  In  the  sleepy 
little  town  of  Casterby  there  was  not  much  done  on 
a  Saturday  afternoon  in  June.  Many  of  the  shops 
in  the  High  Street  and  the  Market  Place  closed  at 
two.  There  was  no  business  down  at  the  yards  and 
the  wharves  on  the  river-side.  The  great  arms  of 
the  windmills  had  sunk  into  their  Sabbath  quietude. 
The  streets  were  deserted ;  but  from  the  open  doors 
of  every  public-house  came  a  buzz  of  tongues,  a 
clang  of  pewter-pots,  a  whiff  of  strong  tobacco, 
which  showed  that  a  fairly  large  number  of  the 
male  inhabitants  of  Casterby  had  betaken  them- 
selves to  their  favourite  haunts  and  their  favourite 
occupation. 

The  younger  men  were  out  on  the  river,  or  play- 
i 


2228404 


2  OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON. 

ing  cricket  in  a  flat  green  meadow  outside  the  town, 
or  loafing  in  groups  at  corners  of  the  streets,  with 
short  pipes  in  their  mouths.  In  one  way  or  an- 
other they  were  amusing  themselves.  Their  sisters 
and  sweethearts  were  for  the  most  part  at  home, 
lying  on  their  beds  in  luxurious  idleness,  or  putting 
the  last  touches  to  some  bit  of  finery  for  the  even- 
ing's wear.  For  after  tea,  by  immemorial  custom, 
the  young  men  and  maidens  of  Casterby  went  for  a 
walk,  generally  in  couples,  to  breathe  the  soft  airs 
of  hayfield,  meadow,  or  river-bank,  and  to  watch 
the  moon  rise  and  the  stars  come  out  over  the  level 
pasture-lands  and  the  low-lying  woods  of  Casterby 
Park. 

Here  and  there,  a  youth  sulked  over  his  hard 
fate  in  having  to  keep  watch  and  ward  at  his 
father's  counter  until  six  o'clock ;  or  a  conscientious 
girl  submitted  to  the  hand  of  destiny  which  had 
given  her  the  charge  of  children  or  of  a  sick  rela- 
tion who  could  not  be  neglected ;  but  for  the  most 
part,  it  was  the  tradition  of  Casterby  that  young 
people  should  have  no  sense  of  duty  or  obligation 
on  a  Saturday  afternoon — that  being  the  time  ap- 
pointed from  all  eternity  for  the  relaxation  of 


OUT  OF   DUE  SEASON.  3 

the  body  and    the    initiation   of    sexual    relation- 
ships. 

The  little  red  town  seemed  to  bask  in  the  sun, 
lying  in  picturesque  stillness  on  the  banks  of  a 
placidly-flowing  river,  with  wide  flat  meadows  on 
either  side,  where  rows  of  pollarded  willows  showed 
the  dykes  that  divided  the  fields,  and  windmills 
stood  up  as  the  only  landmarks  in  that  waste  of 
green  against  the  cloudless  sky.  The  fields  melted 
into  a  blue  haze  of  distance  on  the  horizon,  for 
there  was  not  a  hill  within  sight.  The  white  road 
which  entered  one  side  of  the  town,  crossed  the 
bridge  and  ran  through  the  Market  Place — losing 
itself  for  a  time  in  a  stretch  of  cobble-stones,  and 
emerging  on  the  other  side  between  green  hedges 
on  its  way  into  the  vast  unknown — this  white  and 
dusty  road  had  no  fatiguing  ups  and  downs  for 
many  a  long  mile,  but  meandered  flatly  onward  in 
uniform  monotony.  It  might  have  been  taken 
as  a  figure  of  many  a  life  in  the  little  town  of 
Casterby — a  life  where  there  was  no  obstacle 
and  much  uniformity,  but  where  the  objects  of 
interest  were  few  and  far  between,  and  the  out- 
look on  either  side  the  road  very  much  restricted. 


4  OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON. 

But  there  were  also  by-ways  of  a  more  alluring 
kind. 

It  was  in  the  families  of  middle-class  tradesfolk 
and  small  professional  men  that  this  monotony  was 
mostly  to  be  found.  The  rich  lawyer  and  the  pop- 
ular doctor,  living  outside  the  town,  had  resources 
and  diversions  which  the  shop-people  did  not  dream 
of.  The  parson  had  his  church  and  his  charities. 
The  Squire — represented  by  Mr.  Lisle  of  the  Court 
—was  often  in  London  or  in  "  foreign  parts,"  and, 
being  a  Roman  Catholic,  held  himself  a  little  apart 
from  the  other  magnates  of  the  county  and  the  in- 
stitutions of  the  town.  In  these  men's  houses, 
dimly  represented  to  the  Casterby  people  by  a  stack 
of  chimneys  seen  between  clumps  of  stately  trees, 
or  a  garden-wall,  draped  with  Virginian  creeper, 
from  behind  which  came  sounds  of  laughter  and 
song  and  the  echo  of  strange  outlandish  games,  it 
seemed  almost  to  the  homely  folk  outside  as  if  an 
alien  people  dwelt.  Doubtless,  to  the  Lisle  girls 
and  their  neighbours,  the  young  Collingwoods  of 
Arcke,  shut  in  by  the  great  park  gates,  and 
scarcely  conscious  of  anything  unbeautiful  in 
the  world,  the  lives  of  people  who  lived  behind 


OUT   OF   DUE  SEASON.  5 

shops  and  counting-houses  were  just  as  incon- 
ceivable. 

And  there  was  also  another  class  in  Casterby 
where  life  was  anything  but  monotonous.  Small 
as  the  town  was,  it  had  its  low-lying  tangled  slums, 
where  a  crowd  of  labourers,  mostly  Irish  and  Ro- 
man Catholics,  herded  with  their  wives  and  chil- 
dren in  squalid  little  red-brick  houses,  and  passed 
their  time  in  an  alternation  of  toil  at  the  brickfields 
and  drunken  revelry  at  the  public-house. 

The  fact  that  Mr.  Lisle  was  a  Roman  Catholic, 
and  that  there  was  a  neat  little  Romanist  chapel  in 
Casterby,  helped  to  attract  this  class  of  labourers 
to  the  place ;  and  apart  from  them  there  was  also  a 
contingent  of  ordinary  drunken  Englishmen,  who 
were  even  more  difficult  to  manage  than  the  Irish 
labourers.  Far  removed  from  the  stolid  respecta- 
bility of  the  trading  folk,  further  still  from  the 
careful  refinements  of  the  Court,  there  flourished  in 
the  back-streets  of  Casterby  as  much  vice  and  mis- 
ery, disease  and  dirt,  as  could  well  be  found  in  a 
town  that  did  not  number  quite  three  thousand  in- 
habitants upon  the  census-roll. 

The    beams   of    the   warm  June   sun,   shining 


6  OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON. 

through  the  dusty  panes  of  a  carpenter's  workshop, 
struck  full  on  the  face  and  figure  of  Gideon  Blake, 
as,  with  heavily  frowning  brow,  he  handled  plane 
and  saw  as  though  his  life  depended  on  the  amount  of 
labour  he  could  accomplish,  that  sleepy  Saturday  aft- 
ernoon. Not  that  he  worked  with  any  appearance 
of  ardour.  It  was  simply  that  he  did  not  raise  his 
eyes  or  take  his  attention  from  his  occupation  for  a 
moment ;  he  toiled  with  a  certain  grimness  and  per- 
tinacity of  purpose  not  often  seen  in  a  lad  of  his 
age.  For  he  was  not  more  than  twenty  years  old, 
although  at  first  sight  he  seemed  older.  His  height 
and  his  breadth  of  chest  and  shoulders  were  re- 
markable ;  his  muscles  and  sinews  were  of  iron ; 
one  would  have  said  (but  it  would  not  have  been 
true)  that  his  nerves  were  of  steel.  His  forehead 
was  broad,  and  well  developed  above  the  deep-set 
dark  eyes ;  his  jaw  a  little  too  massive  for  the  line 
of  beauty.  His  mouth  possessed  some  curiously 
sensitive  curves,  which  struck  one  as  out  of  place  in 
that  strong  face ;  but  it  was  not  a  good  mouth  for 
all  that.  It  was  sullen  in  repose,  with  a  droop  at 
the  corners  which  betokened  discontent.  For  the 
rest,  his  face  was  well  featured,  and  when  he  raised 


OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON.  7 

himself  from  his  stooping  posture  it  could  be  seen 
that  his  somewhat  gaunt  frame  had  in  it  the  mak- 
ings of  a  giant.  In  stooping,  the  thing  most  no- 
ticeable about  him  was  the  great  arch  of  his  head, 
where  a  phrenologist  would  have  said  that  the 
qualities  of  veneration  and  benevolence  predomi- 
nated. Those  who  knew  Gideon  Blake  would, 
however,  have  laughed  this  verdict  to  scorn.  He 
did  not  bear  an  amiable  character  in  Casterby. 

At  last  a  shadow  fell  between  him  and  the  sun. 
He  took  no  notice  of  it  for  some  time ;  then  he 
raised  himself,  shook  the  mass  of  heavy  black  hair 
out  of  his  eyes,  and  looked  threateningly  at  the  in- 
truder, who  was  a  spare,  middle-sized  man  with 
scant  gray  hair  and  whiskers,  a  face  mottled  by 
long  exposure  to  wind  and  weather,  a  clear,  shrewd, 
gray-blue  eye,  and  a  peculiarly  long  upper-lip. 
His  waistcoat  was  generally  remarked  on  by 
strangers,  as  it  was  of  a  stout  serviceable  silk,  with 
a  pattern  of  red  and  blue,  now  much  confused  in 
colouring  by  the  lapse  of  time  and  the  stains  of 
beer  and  tobacco ;  but  it  was  an  article  of  attire 
that  Obed  Pilcher  was  proud  of. 

"A  bit  owd -fashioned,"  he  had  been  heard  to 


8  OUT   OF  DUE  SEASON. 

say,  as  he  looked  down  at  it  complacently,  "but 
noan  the  wuss  for  that.  It's  allus  better  to  get  a 
good  stooff  at  beginning,  an'  stick  to  't.  Owd 
Squoire  gi'e  me  this,  a'  did,  an'  it'll  last  ma  toime." 

It  had,  in  fact,  once  been  a  handsome  garment 
of  flowered  silk,  worn  by  the  old  Squire  himself,  in 
days  when  stiff  flowered  waistcoats  were  fashion- 
able, and  to  Obed's  eyes  it  was  as  good  as  ever. 
His  trousers  were  of  ordinary  gray,  usually  turned 
up  at  the  ankles  (on  week-days)  to  show  an  inch  of 
blue  stocking,  but  his  coat  was  always  of  a  rusty 
black.  On  Sundays  he  blossomed  forth  in  a  com- 
plete suit  of  sables,  these  being  usually  the  Vicar's 
gift ;  for  Obed  Pilcher  was  parish  clerk  and  verger, 
or  "pew-opener,"  as  he  called  it,  at  the  parish 
church.  He  magnified  his  office;  on  the  whole,  he 
considered  himself  more  important  in  Casterby 
church  than  any  other  functionary.  Vicars  might 
change  and  curates  come  and  go,  but  the  parish 
clerk  remained  in  his  glory  until  the  day  of  death. 

Mr.  Pilcher  was  the  brother  of  Gideon  Blake's 
mother,  who  had  died  at  his  birth.  It  was  perhaps 
on  account  of  her  early  death  that  he  had  an  espe- 
cial, although  somewhat  sneaking,  affection  for  his 


OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON.  9 

nephew.  Not  that  lie  showed  it  in  words,  scarcely 
in  deeds ;  but  it  was  noticed  that  whenever  Gideon 
was  in  trouble  or  disgrace,  Obed  Pilcher  made  a 
point  of  seeking  him  out  and  giving  him  his  society, 
often  for  two  or  three  hours  at  a  stretch,  without 
offering  a  reason  and  without  trying  to  converse. 
Gideon  betrayed  no  pleasure  at  these  visits,  but 
also  little  or  no  impatience.  It  might  have  been 
conjectured  that  he  was  not  aware  of  their  signifi- 
cance ;  but  Gideon  Blake  often  saw  more  than  he 
chose  to  show,  and  he  by  no  means  wore  his  heart 
upon  his  sleeve. 

On  this  occasion  he  eyed  his  visitor  angrily,  and 
said: 

"Well?" 

Obed  nodded  in  reply. 

"  Good-day  t'  ye,  Gideon.  Main  hot  weather, 
bain't  it  ? " 

Gideon  seemed  to  think  it  not  worth  while  to 
respond.  He  crossed  his  brown  arms  over  his 
broad  breast,  and  leaned  back  against  the  wall, 
turning  his  handsome,  sullen  face  a  little  to  one 
side.  Obed  moved  restlessly  from  one  foot  to  an- 
other, then  felt  in  his  pocket  for  his  snuff-box,  and 


10  OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON. 

deliberately  took  a  pinch  of  snuff  between  his  finger 
and  thumb. 

"Emmy's  at  hoame,"  he  said,  looking  at  the 
snuff-box.  "At  hoame,  doin'  nowt.  Ah  saw 
Emmy  as  ah  coom  by." 

No  answer.  But  a  dull  red  colour  crept  slowly 
into  Gideon's  face,  and  a  mute  anger  showed  itself 
in  his  dark  eyes. 

"  Emmy's  well  enough.  She  bain't  a  bad  lass, 
Emmy.  She  doan't  mean  nowt.  But  she's  stunt. 
All  the  Enderbys  is  stunt.  Dunnot  think  the  wuss 
of  her  for  that." 

"  I  don't,"  said  Gideon  sharply. 

His  uncle  took  the  long-suspended  pinch  of 
snuff,  and  sneezed  two  or  three  times  with  porten- 
tous solemnity,  as  if  he  wished  to  give  his  nephew 
time  to  consider  his  words.  But  Gideon  said  no 
more. 

"Eh,  well.  It's  a  rare  noight  for  t'  watter. 
Thee  be  goin'  along  o'  Mortlock's  party,  ah 
reckon  ? " 

"  What  business  is  it  o'  yours  ? "  said  Gideon, 
moving  from  the  wall  and  looking  round  for  his 
coat.  "  I'm  going  nowhere  to-night." 


OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON.  H 

"  She's  not  goin'  in  Mortlock's  boat  ? " 

"Not  she.  No  party  for  her.  She's  got  a 
chap  of  her  own,  and  a  boat  too,  all  to  themselves." 

And  Gideon  flung  himself  angrily  into  his 
jacket. 

"Ay,  ay,"  said  Obed  slowly.  "Ah  thowt  as 
mooch.  Young  Chiltern,  I  lay,  from  Hull.  The 
lasses  is  all  agate  after  him." 

Gideon  muttered  a  savage  curse  on  young  Chil- 
tern, which  Mr.  Pilcher,  as  the  parish  clerk,  af- 
fected not  to  hear. 

"Dinna  fash  thasen',  Gideon.  Th'  lass  is  all 
right.  She'll  not  tak'  oop  wi'  trash  like  Chiltern, 
for  all  his  goold  chaains  an'  rings.  She  knaws  a 
mon  when  she  sees  un,  Emmy  does." 

Gideon  was  resolved  against  being  comforted, 
but,  in  spite  of  himself,  his  face  cleared  a  little. 

"  She  may  take  Chiltern,  for  all  I  care,"  he  said 
obstinately;  "but  if  she  takes  him,  she  don't  get 
me  too — that's  all." 

To  nobody  else  in  Casterby  would  he  have  said 
as  much. 

Obed  Pilcher  shook  his  head. 

"  Emmy's  a  foine  strapping  lass,"  he  said  saga- 


12  OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON. 

ciously.  "An'  a  fine  strapping  lass  mun  tak'  her 
bit  o'  foon.  It's  foon,  lad,  foon — nowt  else." 

"  She'll  have  to  choose  between  her  fun — and 
me,"  said  Gideon. 

Then  he  stepped  out  of  the  shed,  and  stood  for 
a  moment  in  the  blaze  of  the  afternoon  sun,  his 
hands  in  his  pockets,  his  angry  eyes  fixed  on  the 
ground. 

"  Come  for  a  turn  wi'  me,"  said  Obed  persua- 
sively. 

"Well,  maybe  I  will."  But  he  looked  irreso- 
lute, and  did  not  walk  very  quickly  towards  the 
gate. 

The  Blakes'  house,  a  square  red-brick  block  two 
stories  high,  with  stiff  white  windows  and  prim 
painted  doors,  stood  just  outside  the  wood-yard. 
It  fronted  the  road,  with  a  small  garden  before 
it,  and  a  flagged  walk  from  the  front-door  to  the 
gate ;  and  the  long  narrow  back -garden  ran  past 
the  yard,  divided  from  it  only  by  a  low  privet 
hedge.  A  white  gate,  of  considerable  width  and 
height,  opened  on  the  road  from  the  wood-yard  ; 
but  when  Gideon  Blake's  father  and  his  family 
came  to  and  from  the  house  to  the  yard,  they 


OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON.  13 

generally  walked  through  a  gap  in  the  privet  hedge, 
without  troubling  themselves  about  gates.  Gideon 
was,  however,  making  for  the  highroad,  when  a 
girl  about  twelve  ran  out  at  the  back-door  and  stood 
on  the  garden  side  of  the  hedge,  shaking  her  short 
skirts  and  calling  to  him  : 

"  Gid  !  Gid !  Tea's  ready.  You're  to  bring 
Uncle  Obed  in  to  tea." 

Gideon  looked  at  his  uncle,  and  turned  passively 
towards  the  house.  Uncle  Obed  nodded  and  spoke 
to  the  child  who  was  dancing  on  the  gravelled  path 
as  if  she  did  not  know  how  to  keep  her  feet  still. 

"  I'm  going  on  Mortlock's  boat,"  she  screamed 
out,  as  they  approached.  "  Dad  says  I  may.  We 
shan't  get  home  till  midnight.  All  the  Shipton 
girls  are  going,  too." 

"  Mortlock's  boat "  was  a  pleasure-barge,  often 
hired  on  a  Saturday  evening  by  some  dozen  or 
twenty  young  people  of  Casterby  for  an  excursion 
down  the  river.  Staid  and  sober-going  folk  had 
their  objections  to  these  Saturday  parties,  for  they 
were  not  without  a  rowdy  element,  although  sup- 
posed to  be  conducted  on  respectable  lines.  There 

was  usually  a  good  deal  of  chorus-singing,  and  a 
2 


14  OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON. 

great  supply  of  beer  ;  the  young  men  sat  with  their 
arms  round  the  waists  of  the  girls  of  their  choice, 
and  there  was  more  kissing  than  would  have  been 
deemed  decorous  in  conventional  circles. 

Gideon  took  no  notice  of  his  stepsister's  an- 
nouncement, at  which  Uncle  Obed  wagged  his  head 
solemnly. 

"  A  lile  lass  like  you,"  he  said,  "  niout  be  better 
in  her  bed,  ready  for  Sunday." 

Carry  Blake  laughed  scornfully,  and  pirouetted 
on  one  foot  towards  the  house. 

"  I'm  going  to  enjoy  myself.  I'm  not  always  in 
the  sulks,  like  Gideon,"  she  called  over  her  shoulder 
in  reply. 

She  looked  as  if  she  might  some  day  develop 
into  a  pretty  girl,  for  she  had  long  fair  hair,  eyes  of 
speedwell  blue,  and  a  red-and-white  complexion  ; 
but  her  features  were  curiously  thin  and  sharp,  and 
the  meagre-lipped,  wide  mouth  showed  two  rows  of 
large  white  teeth  which  seemed  out  of  proportion 
to  her  size.  She  was  the  elder  child  of  Joseph 
Blake's  second  wife. 

Gideon  and  Obed  followed  her  through  the 
back-door  and  into  the  little  sitting-room  where 


OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON.  15 

the  tea-table  was  laid.  For  Mrs.  Blake  held  her- 
self high  above  the  vulgarity  of  sitting  in  the 
kitchen,  as  Joe  Blake  had  always  done  before  she 
married  him. 

"  Good  enough  to  smoke  in — good  enough  for 
you  and  your  Pitchers  !  "  she  had  often  exclaimed, 
with  an  acidulated  emphasis  upon  the  maiden  name 
of  Gideon's  mother  ;  "  but  my  father  had  one  of  the 
first  drapery  establishments  in  Gainsborough,  and 
we  had  never  anything  to  do  with  common  labour- 
ers  " 

Which  was  an  unkind  skit  at  Gideon's  mother, 
whose  father  had  been  a  small  tenant-farmer  who 
had  come  down  in  the  world  through  inability  to 
pay  his  rent. 

Mrs.  Blake  prided  herself  on  her  "  genteel "  ap- 
pearance, as  well  as  her  distinguished  parentage. 
She  was  a  tall,  spare  woman,  in  whom  one  saw  her 
daughter's  face  grown  old.  There  were  the  same 
sharp  features,  accentuated  by  age ;  the  same  blue 
eyes,  grown  paler  and  with  reddened  lids ;  the  same 
almost  lipless  mouth,  and  big  teeth  which  were  no 
longer  white,  but  yellow,  tusk-like,  and  ferocious. 
Not  that  Mrs.  Blake  gave  one  the  impression  of 


IB  OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON. 

ferocity  ;  but  that  she  was  possessed  of  some 
genuine  spitefulness  there  could  be  but  little  doubt. 
She  was  always  civil  to  Obed  Pilcher  in  his  presence, 
but  she  had  as  little  love  for  him  as  for  Gideon,  or 
for  the  dead  woman  in  whose  place  she  sat. 

She  .was  dressed  rather  smartly,  in  a  green  gown, 
with  a  wide  and  very  unbecoming  fichu  of  real  lace 
round  her  neck.  She  always  wore  smarter  and 
more  expensive  things  than  were  quite  suitable  to 
her  position,  because  she  got  them  at  wholesale 
prices  from  her  father's  shop.  Carry  also  was  over- 
dressed, and  many  people  wondered  how  "  poor  Joe 
Blake  "  could  afford  such  extravagance,  and  why  he 
did  not  put  a  stop  to  it.  As  if  poor  Joe  Blake 
could  ever  have  put  a  stop  to  anything  that  his 
wife  desired  ! 

lie  was  sitting  at  the  tea-table  when  his  brother- 
in-law  came  in,  and  turned  to  greet  him  with  hearty 
kindliness. 

"  Well,  Obed,  how  goes  the  world  with  you  ? 
Come  in,  come  in  ;  draw  up  a  chair,  and  take  a  cup 
o'  tea.  Mother's  all  in  her  throngs  to-day,  but  she's 
as  glad  to  see  you  as  I  am." 

"Certainly,    Mr.    Pilcher,"   said    Mrs.    Blake. 


OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON.  17 

"  Pray  sit  down  ;  and  Gideon,  too,  if  he's  going  to 
stay." 

"Why  shouldn't  he  stay?"  said  Joe  Blake 
mildly,  as  if  he  noted  something  peculiar  in  his 
wife's  tone.  He  was  large  and  dark,  as  Gideon  was  ; 
but  there  was  none  of  Gideon's  strenuous  gloom  in 
his  placid  countenance.  Only  an  easy-going  man 
could  have  kept  the  peace  as  he  did,  between  a  fault- 
finding second  wife  and  an  irascible  grown-up  son, 
who  were  generally  at  daggers  drawn. 

Gideon  frowned,  and  Carry  burst  out  laughing. 

"  Why,  dad,"  she  said,  "  he's  generally  out  witli 
Emmy  Enderby  on  a  Saturday  afternoon.  Don't 
you  know  that  ? " 

"  Emily  Enderby  is  wiser  than  I  took  her  for," 
said  Mrs.  Blake's  exasperating  voice.  "  She  knows 
the  value  of  two  strings  to  her  bow." 

"  Ah  saw  Emmy  Enderby  as  ah  come  by,"  said 
Obed  Pilcher,  his  broad  accent  causing  Mrs.  Blake 
to  shiver  with  affected  horror  at  the  sound.  "  She 
wras  just  sitting  along  of  her  mother,  sewing  of  a 
gownd." 

If  he  had  expected  to  throw  oil  on  the 
troubled  waters,  he  was  disappointed.  Carry's 


IS  OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON. 

shrill  laughter  and  shriller  tones  rang  unmusically 
through  the  room. 

"  Her  frock — her  new  frock  for  to-night !  "  she 
cried.  "  Uncle  Obed,  that's  just  the  fun.  She's 
going  out  with  Mr.  Fred  Chiltern,  from  Hull :  he's 
to  row  her  up  to  Farmby,  and  have  supper  at  the 
inn  with  the  Mortlock  party — that's  what  Emmy 
Enderby's  going  to  do.  I  shall  see  her.  Gideon, 
why  don't  you  come,  too  ? " 

There  was  a  curious  change  in  Gideon's  face ;  it 
had  turned  pale,  not  red,  and  his  lips  were  stern. 
He  was  still  standing  near  the  door;  the  others 
were  seated,  and  Carry  turned  laughing  eyes  upon 
him  from  over  the  back  of  her  chair. 

"  The  fam'ly's  back  at  t'  Park,"  said  Obed,  by 
way  of  changing  the  conversation ;  and  Joe  Blake 
grunted  a  sociable  interest  in  the  news.  But  the 
women  of  the  family  could  not  let  Emmy 
Enderby's  doings  pass  without  further  criti- 
cism. 

"  If  she  gets  Fred  Chiltern,  she'll  do  very  well," 
said  Mrs.  Blake.  "  He  has  a  very  good  position,  I 
hear.  He's  foreman  already,  and  they  say  he'll 
be  a  partner  by  and  by.  He  has  real  nice  man- 


OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON.  19 

ners,  too — so  amiable  and  obliging — which  is  rnqre 
than  can  be  said  of  all  young  men." 

"I  expect  they'll  come  back  engaged,"  said 
Carry,  giggling  in  Gideon's  face.  "  Shall  you  be 
sorry,  Gid?" 

"  You'll  be  sorry  soon  that  you  can't  hold  your 
tongue,"  replied  her  stepbrother  grimly. 

"  I'll  tell  Emmy  you  said  so !  I'll  tell  her  how 
cross  you  were !  I'll  tell  her — oh !  oh !  Ma,  make 
him  leave  off ! "  For  Gideon  had  seized  her  by 
the  shoulders  with  no  gentle  hands. 

"  How  dare  you  touch  my  child  ?  You  brute ! 
Why  don't  you  speak  to  him,  Joseph  ?  Carry,  you 
shouldn't  tease !  Gideon,  for  goodness'  sake !  don't 
sit  down  with  us  if  you  can't  keep  your  temper." 

"I  don't  mean  to,"  said  Gideon,  upon  whom 
Mrs.  Blake's  tempest  of  scolding  words  fell  with 
very  little  effect.  "  I  only  wish  I  had  never  to  sit 
down  with  that  little  vixen  any  more." 

"  Gid  !  Gid  ! "  muttered  the  mild-natured 
father. 

But  Gideon  did  not  hear.  He  strode  out  of 
the  room  and  banged  the  door  behind  him,  like 
the  ill-conditioned,  unmannerly  boy  that  he  was. 


20  OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON. 

And  Mrs.  Blake  scolded  her  husband  in  place 
of  him  for  the  rest  of  the  meal. 

Obed  Pilcher  and  his  brother-in-law  retired  to 
a  garden  bench  shortly  afterwards,  to  smoke  their 
long  clay  pipes  in  peace.  Joe  Blake  was  not  much 
disturbed  in  his  mind,  but  Obed  was  uneasy. 

"  That  boy  o'  yourn "  he  said  at  last,  with 

difficulty. 

"  Eh  ?  "  said  Joe. 

"  He  be  maain  soft  on  Emmy  Enderby." 

"He  be  main  cranky-tempered,"  said  Gideon's 
father  with  serenity.  "  I  often  thinks  to  myself,  if 
I'd  ha'  laid  the  strap  on  him  a  bit  oftener  when  he 
was  small,  he'd  ha'  been  easier  to  deal  with  now. 
My  missis  often  told  me  so,  but  I  allers  said  I  didn't 
hold  wi'  too  much  flogging." 

"  He  wouldn't  ha'  stood  it,"  said  Obed ;  "  he'd 
ha'  run  away  to  sea,  or  summat.  The  lad's  got 
mettle.  *  Fay  there,  provoke  not  your  children  to 
wrath,'  is  Scripter  words." 

"Ay,  but  there's  another  text  of  a  different 
bearin',"  said  Joe  doubtfully :  " '  Spare  the  rod  an' 
spile  the  child,'  eh  ?  It's  what  Lavinia's  been  quot- 
ing to  me  ever  since  Gideon  was  that  high." 


OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON.  21 

"Wimmin  doan't  understand  men-folk,  nor  yet 
boys,"  said  Obed.  "  Least  of  all  Gideon.  She'd 
ha'  drove  him  out  o'  Casterby  years  ago,  if  she'd 
had  the  fettlin'  of  him.  Ah  doan't  know  where  he 
gets  his  sperit  from.  It  bain't  you,  Joe,  nor  was  it 
poor  Ruth ;  an'  ah'm  blessed,"  he  added  reflective- 
ly, " if  a'  gets  it  from  me" 

"  Ay,  you  was  allers  a  quiet  sort  o'  chap,  Obed," 
said  Joe.  "  But  though  Gid  mayn't  get  his  sperit 
from  me,  yet  'tis  from  my  side  o'  t'  house  it  springs 
from.  There  was  an  uncle  o'  mine  as  was  the  same 
sperity,  high-stummicked  sort  o'  chap.  He  ran 
away  from  hoame,  an'  were  lost  at  sea.  They  did 
say  as  he  took  after  his  grandf'er,  who  was  just 
such  another ;  an'  that's,  mebbe,  where  Gideon  gets 
his  temper  from,  for  they  say  it  runs  in  fam'lies 
sometimes — like  rheumatics." 

"  Ah've  heard  that  the  Blakes  wras  a  terrible 
wild  lot,"  said  Obed.  "  It  'ud  never  do  to  be  too 
hard  on  Gid,  Joe." 

"  Well,  I  beain't  hard  on  'im  ;  it's  the  missus, 
not  me.  An'  at  Gid's  age,  she  can't  hurt  him 
much." 

"  Ah've  bin  thinkin',"  said  Obed,  with  natural 


22  OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON. 

hesitation — "ali've  bin  thinkin'  he'll  want  to  be 
married  afore  long." 

"  Ay,  Emmy  Enderby — if  she'll  have  him.  But 
they're  ower-young  yet." 

"  He's  close  on  one-an' -twenty.  Ah've  bin 
thinkin' " 

"Well,  Obed?" 

"Ah've  gotten  more  rooms  i'  ma  hoose  than 
ali've  any  nse  for,  Joe.  If  Gideon  an'  Emmy 
was  to  coom,  it  'ud  be  main  an'  cheerful  for 
me." 

"What — live  with  you?"  said  Blake,  laying 
down  his  pipe  and  looking  at  Obed  with  perplexed 
interest.  "  Gid  and  Emmy  ? " 

Mr.  Pilcher  nodded  a  solemn  assent. 

"  Gid's  not — well,  easy  to  live  with,  Obed." 

"  Ah  knows  Gid  very  well,"  said  the  parish 
clerk,  nodding  his  head. 

"  Have  you  asked  him  what  he  thinks  of  the 
plan  ? " 

"Nay." 

"  Emmy  mayn't  like  it,  ye  see.     I  don't  know, 

• 

nayther,  if  she  means  to  take  him  or  not." 

"  She'll    take    un,"   said    Obed   with    decision. 


OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON.  23 

"  An' — sithee,  slie'll  take  un  all  the  sooner  if  he's 
got  an  house  to  put  her  in." 

"  A — ay,"  said  Joe  Blake,  with  lengthened  in- 
tonation. "  But  Emmy's  high  in  her  notions.  The 
Enderbys  was  allers  high." 

"  Ah'm  'igh,  too,"  said  Obed  stolidly. 

And  Joe  beat  his  pipe  meditatively  against  his 
hand,  and  wondered  whether  Obed  had  saved 
money. 

"  Then,"  he  said  presently,  "  there's  church." 

"  Ay,"  said  Obed,  "  there's  church,  plaain  eno' ; 
what  o'  that  ?  Gideon  bean't  chapel ;  nor  Ender- 
bys nayther." 

"No,"  said  -Joe,  with  meaning,  "an'  I  ain't 
chapel,  nayther ;  but  Gideon's  nowt.  I  don't  hold 
wi'  folk  allers  mnnin'  off  to  meetin',  as  chapel  folks 
does ;  but  I  likes  'em  to  go  Christmas  an'  Easter, 
an'  now  an'  then  of  a  Sunday.  But  Gideon's 
turned  against  it  ever  since  he  was  twelve  year  old, 
and  not  all  tfye  larrupin'  in  the  world  ever  served 
to  get  him  back  since  the  day  when  parson  boxed 
him  after  service  because  he'd  made  a  noise  during 
psalms." 

"  Ay,  owd  parson  loikes  to  gie  the  boys  a  knock 


24  OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON. 

now  an'  then,"  said  Obed,  with  perfect  equanimity. 
"  They  mostly  desarves  it.  But  he  be  too  owd  an' 
blind  to  ha'  done  much  i'  that  way  lately." 

"  But  that  won't  make  Gid  go  to  church  any  the 
more.  An'  to  my  thinking,  Obed,  it  be  a  trifle  un- 
becoming that  you,  being  parish  clerk,  should  take 
to  live  wi'  you  a  young  man  as  never  passes  the 
threshold.  Parson  '11  take  it  as  a  reflection  on  his- 
self,  and  be  put  out ;  and,  for  my  part,"  said  Joe 
Blake  slowly  and  wisely,  "  I  don't  hold  wi'  offend- 
ing folk,  in  partick'lar  the  quality." 

"  Thee  can  leave  such  matters  to  me,  Joseph 
Blake,"  said  Obed,  with  a  grand  wave  of  his  hand. 
"  Ah  know  what  ah'm  doin',  as  well  as  most  foalk. 
Wheer  t'  wife  goes,  husband  goes,  an'  no  question 
asked.  Emmy  ain't  one  as  '11  be  satisfied  wi'out 
showin'  her  new  ribbons  in  church,  nor  her  new 
husband,  and  Gid  '11  be  like  wax  in  them  pretty 
fingers  of  hern.  Doan't  thee  think  thasen  so  wise, 
Joe." 

"Well,  mebbe  you're  right,"  said  Joe.  Then 
he  stood  up  and  looked  into  the  distance,  with  a 
softer  light  in  his  deep-set  dark  eyes.  "  Ah'm  not 
one  to  trouble  the  church  much,"  he  said,  "  but  I 


OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON.  25 

sometimes  think  Ruth  'ud  be  vexed  to  see  the  lad 
so  set  against  it — an'  you  the  parish  clerk  an'  all. 
So  do  as  you  like,  Obed  Pilcher — do  as  you  like." 

"  Ah  mun  be  gooin,' "  said  Obed.  "  Ah'll 
mebbe  see  the  lad  to-night,  an'  cheer  un  up  wi'  the 
news.  He's  a  bit  downcast  now,  but  it'll  be  all 
right  when  young  Chiltern's  gone  back  to  Hull." 

He  took  his  leave,  and  marched  off  in  search  of 
his  nephew. 

But  Gideon  was  nowhere  to  be  found. 


II. 

"  The  God  of  Love— ah,  bencdicite  ! " 

OBED  did  not  find  his  nephew,  because  Gideon 
had  haunts  of  his  own  where  no  other  foot  ever 
penetrated.  Over  the  workshop  there  was  a  low, 
dark  garret,  a  mere  hole  beneath  the  eaves,  which 
the  lad  had  made  into  a  den  for  himself.  It 
showed  his  unlikeness  to  his  compeers  in  Casterby 
that  he  should  ever  have  conceived  the  desire  of  a 
hiding-place.  The  average  youth  dislikes  to  be 
alone.  But  a  certain  amount  of  loneliness  was  to 
Gideon  as  the  breath  of  life. 

II  is  chamber  had  a  sloping  roof  for  a  wall,  and 
was  barely  six  feet  in  breadth,  although  of  con- 
siderable length,  as  it  extended  the  whole  length  of 
the  workshop.  It  had  once  been  open  to  wind  and 
rain,  but  Gideon  had  stealthily  filled  in  the  side 
with  boards,  and  had  then  contrived  to  fasten  a 

26 


OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON.  27 

pane  of  glass  into  them  for  the  sake  of.  light.  At 
first  this  had  been  enough  for  him ;  but  after  a 
time  he  put  in  a  latticed  window  with  hinges,  so 
that  he  could  get  air  as  well  as  light.  For,  as  it 
happened,  there  was  an  excellent  view  of  the 
meadows  and  the  river  from  Gideon's  glory-hole, 
and  he  had  grown,  without  knowing  why,  to  love 
it.  Sometimes,  when  no  one  knew  what  had  be- 
come of  him,  and  even  his  father  suspected  that  he 
was  engaged  in  mere  mischief-making,  he  was 
lying  at  full  length  under  the  eaves,  with  chin 
pillowed  by  his  hands,  gazing  out  at  the  sunlit 
fields,  at  the  clear  shimmering  line  of  the  river,  at 
the  thousand  and  one  changes  produced  by  light 
and  shade  in  the  landscape,  which  he  seemed  to 
know  by  heart,  yet  never  knew  well  enough.  He 
could  barely  stand  upright  in  his  garret,  but  he 
could  lie  down  and  gaze  out  of  the  window,  or  he 
could  sit  and  read.  He  was  not  much  of  a  reader, 
however;  he  liked  better  to  watch  the  sky,  or  to 
use  his  hands  in  the  carving  of  wood  to  shapes 
which  had  more  artistic  value  than  he  knew.  Few 
persons  knew  of  his  skill  in  this  respect.  He 
carved  things  for  the  pleasure  it  gave  him,  not  for 


28  OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON. 

sale  or  show.  There  was  a  walking-stick,  rich  in 
grotesques,  which  he  meant  one  day  for  Obed 
Pilcher;  a  work-box,  entwined  with  creeping 
stems  and  flowers  and  fruit,  for  Emmy  Enderby ; 
a  picture-frame,  designed  to  hold  a  hideous  black 
outline  of  his  mother's  head — the  only  likeness  he 
had  of  her — for  his  father;  but  as  yet  he  had 
never  summoned  up  courage  to  give  any  of  these 
things  to  their  rightful  owners.  He  felt  a  certain 
shyness  about  it.  And  very  likely  nobody  would 
care  for  his  work,  after  all.  So  he  said  to  himself 
in  moments  of  depression,  which  with  him  were 
not  rare. 

He  had  not  a  happy  disposition.  He  could  not 
take  things  easily  as  others  did.  Life  seemed  hard 
to  him.  He  had  known  little  love,  and  love  was 
the  only  thing  that  would  have  sweetened  his  tem- 
per and  softened  his  self-will.  He  was  believed  by 
his  stepmother  to  have  no  feeling;  but  in  reality 
every  one  of  her  harsh  words  made  him  suffer 
acutely.  He  did  not  doubt  that  all  she  said  was 
true.  He  was  morose,  selfish,  violent,  domineering, 
even  brutal — people  said  so,  and  that  was  enough. 
It  made  him  worse  to  know  the  character  that  his 


OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON.  29 

little  world  gave  him ;  in  his  dark  moods  ho  used 
to  resolve  to  be  as  bad  as  his  stepmother  believed 
him.  Even  his  father  had  no  faith  in  him,  al- 
though he  was  kind  enough.  The  only  person 
who  trusted  him  through  thick  and  thin  was  his 
uncle,  Obed  Pilcher.  And  Gideon  loved  him  for 
it  in  his  heart. 

It  was  not  easy  to  get  on  with  Gideon,  cer- 
tainly. His  hand  was  against  every  man's,  and 
every  man's  hand  against  his.  He  had  a  sullen, 
ungovernable  temper,  and  a  habit  of  brooding  mel- 
ancholy which  was  often  mistaken  for  sullenness. 
And  he  was  very  ignorant.  He  had  refused  to  go 
to  school  after  he  was  twelve  years  old,  and  at  the 
same  age,  as  his  father  had  said,  he  had  also  re- 
belled against  church.  Casterby  was  neither  a 
scholarly  nor  a  church-going  place ;  nevertheless, 
Gideon's  revolt  was  unprecedented,  and  caused  him 
to  be  set  down  as  a  black  sheep.  Careful  mothers 
kept  their  children  away  from  him ;  strict  fathers 
forbade  their  sons  to  make  him  their  friend.  They 
did  not  care  about  religion  themselves ;  but  it  was 
not  respectable  never  to  be  seen  at  church.  Thus 

Gideon  was  an  Ishmael  at  a  very  early  age,  and 
3 


30  OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON. 

had  an  evil  reputation  which  was  hardly  warranted 
by  his  deeds. 

It  is  many  years  since  Gideon  Blake  was  young, 
and  Casterby  is  a  changed  place  nowadays.  Its 
grammar-school  is  becoming  famous ;  its  church  is 
ritualistic  and  "  advanced " ;  it  is  rather  proud  of 
its  sanitary  condition,  its  electric  lighting,  its  shady 
side-walks.  But  in  those  days  the  grammar-school 
had  barely  half  a  dozen  pupils,  taught  by  an  ineffi- 
cient old  man,  who  ultimately  drank  himself  to 
death ;  and  the  empty  church  was  a  desolate  place, 
where  the  congregation  made  use  of  the  altar-table 
and  the  font  as  convenient  resting-places  for  their 
hats,  and  the  clerk  read  the  responses  from  the 
lowest  tier  of  a  "  three-decker " ;  and  the  streets 
were  paved  with  cobble-stones,  and  the  back  lanes 
were  a  disgrace  to  civilization.  What  wonder, 
then,  if  Gideon  Blake's  mental  powers  and  moral 
nature  were  allowed  to  run  wild,  and  his  nobler 
instincts  to  die  down  without  a  struggle,  because 
no  one  cared  whether  his  soul  were  alive  or 
dead? 

But  the  finer  the  nature,  the  more  keenly  it 
suffers  when  starved  in  this  way.  Gideon  did  not 


OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON.  31 

know  why  he  suffered,  but  now  and  then  he  was 
conscious  of  a  desperate  intolerance  of  his  lot.  He 
wanted  something,  and  he  could  not  put  his  longing 
into  words.  The  wonder  was  that  his  impatience 
had  not  driven  him  forth  into  the  world,  to  find  out 
what  was  wrong  with  himself  and  his  life.  But  he 
was  withheld  for  two  reasons.  One  was  his  silent 
affection  for  his  uncle,  Obed  Pilcher,  to  whom  he 
knew  himself  to  be  the  centre  of  existence.  The 
other  reason  was  one  of  temperament.  With  all 
his  impatience  and  rebellion  of  spirit,  he  had  the 
habit  of  dumb  endurance,  which  had,  perhaps,  de- 
scended to  him  through  generations  of  peasant  fore- 
fathers— the  reticence,  the  passivity  of  men  of  the 
soil.  He  could  feel,  suffer,  endure ;  he  hardly 
knew  how  to  take  the  initiative  in  freeing  himself 
from  bonds. 

His  one  solace  lay  in  that  window  in  the  garret, 
which  was  to  him  like  a  window  of  the  soul.  He 
had  strange  thoughts  of  life  and  death,  of  God 
and  of  eternity,  as  he  lay  and  watched  the  passing 
of  the  clouds,  the  shining  of  the  sun  by  day,  the 
great  procession  of  the  stars  by  night.  He  could 
not  have  put  them  into  words  to  save  his  life,  and 


32  OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON. 

yet  they  made  him  different  from  the  ordinary  bu- 
colic youth — they  set  a  barrier  between  him  and 
the  shop-lads  who  measured  ribbons  at  noon,  and 
pursued  questionable  recreations  when  the  shop 
was  shut.  They  made  him  vaguely  contemptuous 
of  the  ordinary  occupations  and  interests  of  his 
kind,  yet  they  supplied  him  with  no  definite  in- 
terests or  objects  of  his  own.  Many  an  observer 
would  have  judged  these  long  solitary  musings  as 
things  that  did  harm  rather  than  good. 

And  yet,  finer  issues  might  be  hoped  for,  when 
the  spirit  was  so  finely  touched  by  things  that  per- 
tained to  heaven  rather  than  to  earth. 

Into  this  sad-coloured,  self-centred  life  there 
came  quite  suddenly  that  blossoming  of  the  whole 
being  which  goes  by  the  name  of  love. 

"  Emmy  Enderby  ! "  How  often  he  had  said 
the  simple  little  name  to  himself!  He  had  carved 
it  with  a  hundred  different  flourishes  and  designs 
all  over  the  walls  of  his  room.  He  had  dreamed 
of  her  night  and  day  ever  since  she  first  took  his 
fancy  captive ;  he  had  lost  the  memory  of  his  old 
aspirations — if  the  vague  thoughts  of  his  future 
could  be  dignified  by  that  name — henceforth  he 


OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON.  33 

lived  only  for  her.  It  was  a  passion  of  unusual 
intensity  in  one  so  young,  a  tropical  passion,  almost 
unknown  in  the  green  wastes  of  Casterby,  where 
love  was  rated  for  the  most  part  as  a  matter  for 
mingled  jocosity  and  shame.  Gideon  was  not 
ashamed  of  his  love,  nor  inclined  to  make  a  joke 
of  it.  He  would  have  proclaimed  it — rudely  and 
fiercely,  perhaps — to  all  the  world,  if  he  could.  It 
was  a  fire  that  consumed  him — a  sacred  flame. 

He  had  known  Emmy  Enderby  since  she  was  a 
child ;  but  he  had  never  noticed  her  until  her  return 
from  the  cheap  boarding-school  to  which  she  had 
been  sent  for  a  couple  of  years  by  her  proud  parents. 
Proud  they  were  of  her  beauty,  of  her  cleverness, 
and  willing  to  make  sacrifices  for  her  sake.  Her 
father  was  only  an  ironmonger,  though  for  some 
years  a  successful  one,  and  he  did  not  set  himself  up 
to  rank  with  Mr.  Blake,  who  had  a  wood-yard  and 
a  flourishing  business  and  a  good  many  workmen 
under  him.  Such  fine  distinctions  would  have  been 
almost  incomprehensible  to  the  minds  of  the  Rector's 
family  or  the  Lisles ;  they  would  have  classed  the 
Blakes  and  the  Enderbys  together  as  tradespeople, 
and  seen  no  difference.  But  there  was  all  the 


3±  OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON. 

difference  in  the  world  in  Casterby  eyes ;  for  James 
Euderby  kept  a  mere  shop,  while  Joseph  Blake 
ranked  as  a  wholesale  dealer  and  supplied  "  the 
trade." 

Moreover,  Enderby  had  come  down  in  the  world, 
lie  had  failed  once,  and  was  now  doing  business  "in 
a  very  small  way."  But  Emmy,  six  months  home 
from  school,  and  barely  eighteen,  was  unaffected  by 
her  father's  troubles,  and  amused  herself  all  day  long 
to  the  best  of  her  ability,  while  her  mother  toiled  at 
household  matters  and  the  management  of  a  large 
family.  Emmy  certainly  toiled  not,  neither  did  she 
spin.  She  felt  herself  too  pretty  and  too  superior 
to  work ;  and  the  girls  at  school  had  told  her  that 
she  was  sure  to  be  married  before  she  was  nineteen. 
Emmy  thought  that  she  would  like  to  be  married — 
and  she  also  liked  Gideon  Blake.  She  was  not 
formally  "  engaged  "  to  him,  but  she  knew  that  she 
might  be  whenever  she  chose. 

Her  liking  of  him,  however,  did  not  restrain  her 
from  flirting  witli  any  man  who  made  advances  to 
her.  All  the  more  had  she  done  this  since  she  had 
discovered  that  her  flirtations  drove  Gideon  into  a 
frenzy  of  jealousy.  It  amused  her  to  see  her  power 


OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON.  35 

over  him,  and  it  was  not  in  her  nature  to  under- 
stand the  suffering  which  she  inflicted.  Perhaps  she 
would  not  have  cared  much,  if  she  had  understood. 
Up  in  the  little  room  beneath  the  roof,  Gideon 
waited  and  watched.  He  was  undergoing  a  silent 
agony  of  wounded  feeling.  He  writhed  with  pain  as 
he  pictured  the  scenes  in  which  Emmy  was  moving : 
he  saw  her  helped  into  the  barge  by  Fred  Chiltern's 
hand  ;  sitting  close  to  Fred  Chiltern,  perhaps  with 
his  arm  round  her  waist  when  darkness  began  to 
fall ;  allowing  him  to  kiss  her,  perhaps,  when  they 
said  good-bye.  At  that  moment  he  loathed  Fred 
Chiltern — hitherto  known  to  him  as  a  dapper,  self- 
satisfied  harmless  little  draper's  assistant,  whom  he 
had  considered  as  a  person  of  no  account  whatever — 
loathed  and  hated  him  with  a  passionate  hatred 
which  turned  him  giddy  and  sick  with  its  vehe- 
mence. But  he  did  not  move ;  he  lay  motionless, 
watching  the  golden  afternoon  glide  into  the  mel- 
lower evening  light,  and  the  shadows  of  the  poplar 
trees  in  the  hedges  grow  so  long  that  they  stretched 
half  across  the  meadows,  and  the  clear  waters  of  the 
winding  river  turn  red  here  and  there  as  if  they 
were  tinged  with  blood.  It  was  not  until  the 


36  OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON. 

colour  had  begun  to  die  out  of  the  landscape,  and  a 
light  haze  to  show  itself  across  the  fields,  that  he 
roused  himself  from  his  crouching  position,  and, 
after  some  consideration,  crept  down  the  ladder 
which  gave  access  to  his  garret,  and  made  his  way 
into  the  street. 

His  father's  house  and  yard  were  not  on  the 
highroad,  but  on  one  that  crossed  the  main  street 
of  Casterby  at  right  angles — a  by-way,  leading  to 
nowhere  in  particular,  losing  itself  in  a  narrow  lane 
and  a  stretch  of  fields  at  the  further  end.  But  two 
minutes'  walk  brought  Gideon  to  the  street  of  red- 
brick irregular  houses,  here  beginning  to  look  less 
crowded  together  than  in  the  centre  of  the  town, 
for  the  Blakes'  side-street  was  near  the  outskirts  of 
Casterby,  leading  from  the  uninteresting  white  road 
that  crept  away  from  the  red  houses  to  its  course 
between  the  fields.  Gideon  did  not  turn  to  the  left 
hand,  which  would  have  led  him  out  of  the  town, 
lie  faced  to  the  right,  and  swung  down  towards 
the  Market  Place  and  the  river. 

The  shops  were  shut,  and  the  twilight  of  a  June 
day  was  closing  in.  Very  few  persons  were  in  the 
streets.  There  was  a  little  group  round  the  steps  of 


OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON.  37 

the  Independent  chapel,  the  little  red-brick  build- 
ing near  Dane  Street  (the  by-road  in  which  Joseph 
Blake  lived) ;  but  Gideon  avoided  it  by  passing  on 
the  other  side.  After  crossing  the  road,  he  passed 
close  by  the  open  gate  of  the  Roman  Catholic 
chapel — places  of  worship  were  thick  in  Casterby— 
and  he  gave  a  glance  of  contempt  and  disgust  at 
the  building  as  he  went  by.  He  had  no  particular 
love  for  his  own  form  of  religious  faith,  but  he  had 
been  brought  up  to  despise  all  others.  Yet  he  was 
not  without  a  kind  of  sneaking  curiosity  to  know 
what  went  on  inside  the  place  which  he  had  heard 
vaguely  and  inaccurately  described  as  "the  very 
gate  of  hell."  If  there  was  not  much  religion, 
there  was  a  good  deal  of  theological  bitterness  in 
Casterby.  A  glimpse  of  lighted  candles,  a  whiff  of 
stale  incense,  seen  and  felt  now  and  then  as  he  hur- 
ried by,  had  always  produced  a  peculiarly  poignant 
sensation  in  Gideon's  mind.  He  would  have  told 
you  that  it  was  repulsion,  but  it  was  much  more 
like  fascinated  dread. 

On  this  night,  however,  he  had  no  time  for 
thoughts  beyond  himself.  He  shrank  from  speak- 
ing even  to  his  uncle  Obed,  whom  he  vaguely  saw 


38  OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON. 

standing  near  the  door  of  the  parish  church,  set 
lengthwise,  east  and  west,  along  the  side  of  the 
street,  as  he  sped  onward  to  the  Market  Place — a 
wide  oblong  space,  paved  with  cobble-stones,  and 
ascending  on  one  side  towards  the  gray  arch  of  the 
bridge  across  the  river.  After  the  bridge,  the 
houses  on  either  side  of  the  road  meandered  a  little, 
and  very  soon  ceased  altogether,  but  Gideon  did 
not  go  very  far.  He  only  crossed  the  bridge,  and 
turned  aside  to  the  towing-path  beside  the  river. 
The  thought  had  come  to  him  that  he  would  walk 
a  little  way  from  the  bridge  and  wait — perhaps  on 
the  other  side  of  the  next  hawthorn  hedge — for  the 
return  of  the  pleasure -barge. 

For  a  little  distance  the  path  was  rough  and 
covered  with  cinders.  There  was  Hernshaw's 
brewery  and  its  out-houses  beside  the  river  on  one 
side,  and  some  coal-sheds  and  high  windowless 
buildings  on  the  other.  After  these  erections  came 
a  little  river-side  house  or  two  :  one  with  a  garden, 
generally  occupied  by  some  Dissenting  minister 
or  other ;  and  one,  much  nearer  the  water's  edge, 
which  belonged  to  Obed  Pilcher.  Gideon  glanced 
at  this  house  with  a  sensation  of  relief — he  was  glad 


OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON.  39 

that  his  uncle  had  not  come  home,  and  that  he  was 
on  the  other  side  of  the  river.  He  passed  the  brew- 
ery, got  free  of  the  cinders,  and  threw  himself  down 
on  the  grass  of  a  field,  on  the  further  side  of  a  tall 
hedge  which  effectually  screened  him  from  the  eyes 
of  townsfolk  on  the  bridge.  Here  he  lay  and 
waited,  until  the  shadows  gathered  thickly  about 
him,  and  the  moon  came  out  above  the  poplar-trees. 

Gradually  all  sounds  died  away.  The  water 
made  a  gentle  plashing  now  and  then.  The  scent 
of  meadowsweet  was  wafted  to  his  nostrils,  and 
white  moths  fluttered  dimly  about  him  in  the  twi- 
light ;  once  an  owl  sailed  past  his  head  with  a  rush 
of  great  soft  wings,  otherwise  he  was  undisturbed. 
Not  until  close  upon  eleven  o'clock — he  heard  it 
strike  from  the  church  tower  soon  afterwards — was 
he  conscious  of  the  first  faint  sign  of  the  returning 
water-party. 

A  strain  of  music  first — the  sound  of  voices 
singing.  They  always  sang  as  they  came  home — 
Gideon  knew  that.  He  hated  the  sound,  although 
distance  made  it  rather  sweet  upon  the  listening  air. 
They  were  singing  a  pretty,  plaintive  ditty,  newer 
then  to  English  ears  than  it  is  now — one  of  the 


40  OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON. 

American  plantation  songs,  which  always  have 
a  note  of  melancholy  beneath  their  quaintness. 
"•  Way  down  upon  de  Swanee  Kiver " — Gideon 
could  himself  sing  it  with  the  best  of  them,  but  he 
buried  his  fingers  in  his  ears  and  would  not  recog- 
nise its  sweetness  as  it  drew  near.  Only  when  the 
boat  came  round  a  corner  into  the  moonlight,  and 
he  could  see  as  well  as  hear,  did  he  look  up.  He 
was  not  quite  near  enough  to  distinguish  faces,  but 
he  was  sure  that  he  could  see  Emmy's  big  wliite 
hat  and  the  wliite  frock  and  blue  ribbon  that  she 
was  sure  to  wear.  He  could  not  be  mistaken  in 
that  slim  white  figure,  even  although  it  was  encir- 
cled by  the  arm  of  a  man  whom  Gideon  vaguely 
knew  to  be  Fred  Chiltern. 


"  All  tie  world  am  sad  and  dreary 

Whcresoc'er  I  roam. 
Oh,  darkies,  how  my  heart  grows  weary " 


Then  there  was  a  breakdown  and  a  laugh.  The 
very  pathos  of  the  words,  which  almost  brought  a 
sob  into  Gideon's  throat,  seemed  ridiculous  to  these 
young  people. 

"  The  old  folks  at  home  are  welcome  to  see  the 


OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON.  41 

last  of  me,  any  time  they  like ! "  cried  one  reckless 
young  voice. 

"  If  I  found  tlie  world  so  sad  and  dreary  as  all 
that,  I'd  go  and  drown  myself,"  laughed  another ; 
and  this  time  Gideon  thrilled  all  over,  for  it  was 
Emmy  who  had  spoken. 

"No  fear,"  answered  another,  and  then  the 
boat  swept  on  to  the  landing-place,  and  there 
was  an  indiscriminate  hubbub  of  shouts,  rat- 
tling chains,  a  bump  or  two,  the  sound  of  feet 
on  the  pathway,  as  the  girls  were  jumped  to  land 
by  their  swains,  the  light  laughter  of  voices 
saying  good-bye.  Gideon  rose  and  looked  at  the 
little  group  from  over  the  hedge.  "I'll  take 
Miss  Enderby  home,"  he  heard  Fred  Chiltern 
say. 

Should  he  interfere?  For  a  moment  he  was 
inclined  to  step  forward  and  declare  his  right  to  be 
Emmy  Enderby's  escort.  Why  should  Chiltern  see 
her  home  through  the  echoing  streets,  where  the 
moonlight  lay  so  white  and  chill  upon  the  stones  ? 
It  was  his  place — his,  to  be  at-  Emmy's  side,  for 
had  she  not  let  him  tell  her  that  he  loved  her? 
Perhaps  since  then  she  had  let  Fred  Chiltern  tell 


4:2  OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON. 

her  the  same  story  ?  Gideon  held  back ;  he  had 
forfeited  his  place. 

In  five  minutes  they  had  dispersed,  and  even 
the  sound  of  ringing  footsteps  on  the  bridge  had 
died  away.  Gideon  flung  himself  down  on  the 
grass  again,  the  hot  tears  in  his  eyes,  the  convulsive 
sobs  in  his  throat.  He  had  not  cried  since  he  was 
a  child ;  but  something  overcame  his  manhood  now. 
He  wept,  with  his  face  pressed  to  the  warm  dry 
earth,  his  hands  clutching  restlessly  at  the  tuft  of 
herbage  within  reach.  He  was  shaken  from  head 
to  foot  by  the  misery  of  a  thwarted  desire. 

In  the  early  light  of  morning  he  crept  back  to 
his  loft  over  the  wood-shed,  and  lay  there  until  he 
could  slip  into  the  house  unseen.  No  one  had 
missed  him.  His  movements  were  so  erratic  that 
even  Mrs.  Blake  had  dropped  the  habit  of  in- 
quiring whether  he  were  at  home  or  not  when  she 
locked  the  house-door.  It  was  known  that  he  slept 
in  the  loft  whenever  he  felt  disposed. 

Emmy  Enderby  was  not  quite  happy  in  her 
mind  when  she  awoke  on  Sunday  morning.  She 
had  been  later  the  night  before  than  her  mother 
approved,  and  in  her  own  heart  she  knew  that  she 


OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON.  43 

had  gone  further  in  her  flirtation  with  Fred 
Chiltern  than  she  had  intended  to  do.  And  she 
was  aware  that  Gideon  was  angry — Carry  Blake 
had  left  her  in  no  doubt  upon  that  subject — and 
although  she  told  herself  with  a  laugh  that  she  did 
not  care,  she  knew  that  she  was  a  trifle  afraid  of  his 
anger.  She  had  been  proud  of  leading  in  a  leash 
the  lion  which  no  one  but  herself  could  tame ;  but 
how  if  the  lion  turned  and  crushed  her,  after  all  ? 

Emmy  was  very  orthodox  on  a  Sunday.  She 
went  to  church  in  all  her  bravery,  and  sat  with  the 
quietest  of  her  younger  sisters  in  a  pew  where  her 
new  muslin  and  her  hat  with  the  feathers  had  the 
greatest  chance  of  being  observed  by  all  the  con- 
gregation. Then,  in  the  afternoon,  she  con- 
descended so  far  as  to  teach  a  class  in  the  Sunday- 
school,  where  her  services  as  a  performer  on  the 
harmonium  were  also  in  requisition.  The  Sunday- 
school  was  very  small  and  very  badly  managed,  for 
the  Eector  was  old  and  in  delicate  health,  and  left 
all  such  minor  matters  to  the  care  of  a  young 
curate  who  neither  knew  nor  cared  much  about  the 
parish.  It  was  he,  however,  who  had  asked  Miss 
Enderby  to  become  a  teacher,  and  perhaps  it  was 


44  OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON. 

partly  on  that  account  that  Emmy  had  con- 
sented. 

The  Enderby's  shop  was  in  the  Market  Place, 
and  not  five  minutes'  walk  from  the  school-house, 
and  at  five  minutes  to  two  precisely  Emmy  came 
out  at  the  side-door  with  her  bundle  of  little  books 
in  her  hand,  feeling  very  pious  and  very  well 
satisfied  with  her  own  doings.  She  rather  hoped 
that  she  might  meet  Fred  Chiltern  on  the  way,  and 
be  obliged  to  refuse  to  go  for  a  walk  with  him. 
"  I  am  going  to  Sunday-school,  Mr.  Chiltern,"  she 
imagined  herself  saying,  with  a  demure  droop  of 
her  eyelids.  He  would  wonder  if  she  were  indeed 
the  same  girl  that  he  had — well,  talked  to  the  night 
before  (a  different  word  had  been  upon  her  lips) ; 
and  he  would  know  that  she  was  a  good  girl — a 
nice  girl,  "  and,"  said  Emmy  to  herself  with  a 
curious  lack  of  humour,  as  she  stepped  out  of  the 
iron-monger's  house,  "quite  the  lady."  For,  to 
Emmy's  mind,  teaching  in  a  Sunday-school  brought 
her  up  to  the  level  of  the  Rectory  young  ladies, 
who  also  took  a  class  when  they  were  at  home. 

She  stepped  out  into  the  sunshine,  her  pink 
starched  skirts — it  was  the  fashion  of  the  day — 


OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON.  4.5 

floating  around  her;  her  white  leghorn  hat,  with 
its  white  feather,  a  model  of  daintiness.  She  wore 
a  filmy  white  fichu,  and  very  pale  primrose  kid 
gloves.  The  taste  of  the  day  was  for  bright 
colours,  and  Emmy  knew  that  she  looked  well  in 
them.  She  had  bronze  boots,  and  a  lace  handker- 
chief laden  with  scent,  and  a  gold  brooch  and 
bracelets,  and  the  youth  of  the  neighbourhood 
admired  her  immensely.  Then  she  was,  without 
doubt,  remarkably  pretty.  Her  complexion  was 
fine  as  the  petal  of  a  rose,  and  her  small  features 
were  delicately  cut.  Her  eyes  were  large,  blue, 
and  innocent-looking,  and  her  curly  hair  was 
golden  and  abundant.  It  was  a  conventional  type, 
but  one  that  there  could  be  no  hesitation  about — it 
was  neither  classic  nor  romantic  nor  picturesque, 
perhaps;  it  was  simply  very  bright  and  very 
pretty.  In  our  days,  a  girl  with  her  eyes  and  hair 
would  not  be  suffered  to  wear  a  staringly  pink  frock, 
but  in  the  sixties  pink  was  quite  the  proper  thing. 

She  came  out,  radiant  as  the  dawn,  fresh  as  a 
rose,  and  found  herself  face  to  face  with  Gideon 
Blake,  whose  brow  was  like  a  thunder-cloud 
indeed. 


46  OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON. 

She  recoiled  with  a  little  exclamation.  His  face 
daunted  her.  In  other  ways,  his  appearance  was 
better  than  usual ;  he  had  donned  his  Sunday 
clothes,  which  he  sometimes  disdained  to  wear,  and 
had  made  the  best  of  himself.  But  his  haggard 
eyes  and  cheeks,  his  pale  lips,  his  threatening  gaze, 
as  well  as  a  certain  stony  determination  which  sat 
upon  every  feature,  caused  her  to  shrink  back 
within  the  doorway,  and  to  say  rather  nervously : 

"  Oh,  Gideon,  how  you  startled  me  ! " 

He  looked  at  the  radiant  vision  unappalled. 
He  was  in  the  mood  when  nothing  would  affect 
him  but  a  simple  yea  or  nay.  Emmy's  fine  feathers 
sometimes  made  him  a  little  afraid  of  her ;  but  to- 
day he  knew  them  for  the  mere  externals  and 
accessories  that  they  were. 

"  I  can't  stay,"  said  Emmy  hurriedly.  "  Don't 
keep  me,  please,  Gid;  I  am  going  to  Sunday- 
school." 

She  made  a  little  movement  as  if  to  pass  him, 
but  he  stood  blocking  the  way,  and  putting  out 
one  hand,  he  laid  it  on  her  wrist  in  a  clasp  that 
was  quite  gentle,  yet  which  might  tighten,  as  she 
felt,  in  one  moment  to  a  grip  of  steel. 


OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON.  47 

"  You  are  not  going  to  Sunday-school  or  any- 
where else,"  he  said,  "until  you  have  answered 
me  one  question." 

"  Oh,  Gideon,  don't  be  so  silly !  I  shall  be 
late.  I'll  go  for  a  walk  with  you  after  school. 
Won't  that  do?" 

"  Xo,  it  won't  do.  I've  been  waiting  too  long 
already.  I  want  to  know  whom  you  like  best — 
Fred  Chiltern  or  me  ? " 

"  Gideon,  I  can't  answer  a  question  like  that 
all  in  a  moment !  " 

"If  you  can't,"  he  said,  in  level,  unemotional 
tones,  "you've  answered  it  already,  and  I  shall 
never  ask  you  again.  I  shall  never  see  you  or  speak 
to  you  again.  I've  made  up  my  mind.  So 
will  you  tell  me  in  plain  words,  or  will  you  not  ? " 

"  Oh,  Gideon ! "  she  cried  again.  Then  she 
drew  back  a  pace  or  two  within  the  passage  of  the 
house.  "I  can't  answer  such  a  question  out 
there — in  the  Market  Place.  Everyone  will  see. 
Look  over  there !  I  see  Mrs.  Larriper  at  her  win- 
dow opposite,  laughing." 

"  She  can't  hear  what  we  say,"  returned  Gideon 
imperturbably.  "I  must  know." 


48  OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON. 

"  Which  I  like  best — Fred  or  you  ?  Suppose 
I  say  Fred?" 

Gideon  half  turned  on  his  heel. 

"  Very  well,"  he  answered  in  a  smothered 
voice ;  "  then  I  shall  know  what  to  do." 

"What  will  you  do?"  cried  Emmy,  half 
alarmed,  half  impatient.  "There's  nothing  to  do. 
What  do  you  mean?" 

"I — could — kill  him!"  said  Gideon,  between 
his  teeth. 

And  he  looked  as  if  he  meant  it.  There  was 
a  latent  fierceness  in  his  eyes  and  voice  such  as 
Emmy,  in  her  peaceful  English  life,  had  never 
seen  before.  She  uttered  a  little  cry,  and  pulled 
him  into  the  house. 

"  You  silly  boy !  How  can  you  say  such  dread- 
ful tilings !  You  want  to  frighten  me ! " 

"  I  don't  want  to  frighten  you,"  said  Gideon 
doggedly.  The  scowl  upon  his  forehead  was  more 
pronounced  than  ever;  he  looked  fixedly  at  the 
wall,  as  if  he  did  not  care  to  meet  the  horror  of 
Emmy's  wide-eyed  gaze.  "  I  mean  what  I  say. 
If  you're  going  to  marry  Chiltern,  I'd  just  as  soon 
be  out  of  the  world  as  in  it.  But  he  should  go 


OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON.  49 

first.  If  lie  robs  me  of  the  only  thing  I  care  for, 
he  shall  suffer  for  it.  That  would  be  only  justice. 
And  I  give  you  fair  warning." 

"  But,  Gideon — Gideon,"  said  Emmy,  with  face 
from  which  the  rose-tints  had  fled,  "  you  are  mis- 
taken. You  must  not  talk  in  that  way.  Indeed, 
I — I  don't  like  Mr.  Chiltern  better  than  you." 

Gideon's  eye  flashed. 

"  You  like  me  best  ? "  he  said,  putting  out  both 
hands. 

She  placed  hers  in  them — dropping  her  little 
books  upon  the  floor — as  she  replied : 

"  Yes,  yes,  indeed  I  do ! " 

"  Emmy — do  you  love  me  ? " 

"  Oli,  Gideon — yes,  of  course.  Fancy  asking 
me  here — and  now!" 

They  were  in  a  narrow  entry,  where  the  odours 
of  a  past  dinner  were  very  strong,  and  the  voices 
of  the  family  could  be  distinctly  heard  through 
the  partition-wall.  Perhaps  it  was  an  odd  place 
in  which  to  make  love.  But  Gideon  did  not  care. 
He  shut  the  door  behind  him  with  his  foot,  and 
took  the  girl's  slight  figure  in  his  arms.  Some- 
thing in  his  manner — its  restraint  rather  than  its 


50  OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON. 

passion — took  hold  of  Emmy's  nature  and  seemed 
to  hold  it  fast.  From  the  moment  when  she  felt 
the  pressure  of  his  lips  on  hers,  she  knew  that  she 
belonged  to  him  as  she  could  belong  to  no  one 
else.  The  shallow,  frivolous  nature  was  pierced 
through  by  the  shaft  of  his  intense  love  and  long- 
ing; she  was  lifted  out  of  herself  by  the  purest 
and  strongest  kind  of  feeling  that  she  had  ever 
known — by  a  love  which  seemed  the  fellow  of  Gid- 
eon's own.  But  Gideon's  love  was  of  the  enduring 
kind ;  and  hers  was,  perhaps,  a  thing  of  rather 
ephemeral  growth. 

lie  had  never  kissed  her  before ;  it  had  been 
counted  against  him  as  a  fault  in  Emmy's  mind 
that  lie  had  never  tried  to  kiss  her.  But  now,  as 
his  lips  clung  to  hers,  she  trembled  with  a  sensa- 
tion of  shame  and  fear,  and  was  glad  that  he  had 
reserved  his  caresses  for  a  moment  of  silence  and 
obscurity.  She  was  glad  to  hide  her  face  upon 
his  shoulder,  and  it  was  her  first  experience  of  that 
sort  of  shy  reserve. 

"  My  own  love !  my  darling !  "  he  murmured, 
still  holding  her  close  to  him. 

"  I    must     go — I    really    must,"    she    panted. 


OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON.  51 

"  Mother  or  one  of  the  children  may  come  out  at 
any  moment." 

"  Yes ;  you  can  come  out  on  the  river  with 
me." 

"  Oh,  Gideon,  not  on  a  Sunday ! " 

"You  went  with  that  fellow  last  night;  now 
you  must  come  with  me." 

"  But  there  is  the  school— 

"  There's  the  curate  to  keep  order.  You  won't 
go  to  that  school  any  more,  Emmy,  so  you  may  as 
well  give  it  up  at  once." 

Emmy  felt  a  touch  of  rebellious  indignation. 

"  Indeed,  Gideon,  I  cannot  give  it  up  in  this 
way " 

"  Do  you  like  the  curate  better  than  me  ?  Then 
go  to  the  school,"  said  Gideon,  suddenly  releasing 
her  hands.  And  Emmy  felt  that  she  had  met  her 
master ;  it  was  not  to  her  altogether  an  unpleasing 
discovery. 

"  Oh  no,  Gideon,  don't  say  that !  I  will  do  ex- 
actly what  you  like,"  she  said  humbly.  "  I  would 
a  great  deal  rather  go  on  the  river  with  you,  only- 
it  is  Sunday,  and  I  have  on  this  frock ;  I'm  afraid 
it  will  get  spoiled.  Let  us  go  for  a  walk  instead." 


52  OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON. 

"  Will  you  go  on  the  river  with  me — with  me 
alone — to-morrow  night?"  said  Gideon  insist- 
ently. 

"  Yes,  I  will." 

"  And  never  again  without  me  ? " 

She  pouted  a  little. 

"  Well,  I  don't  know.  Oh,  don't  be  angry  "— 
she  was  developing  a  dread  of  Gideon's  power — "  I 
won't  go  unless  you  allow  me.  Will  that  do,  you 
tyrant  ? " 

lie  smiled,  not  displeased  to  be  called  a  tyrant 
in  such  sweet  tones  by  a  pair  of  such  pretty  lips, 
with  so  daintily  mutinous  a  glance  from  those  blue 
eyes.  He  kissed  her  again,  and  asked  her  to  come 
out  at  once. 

"  My  books — I  have  dropped  them  all  over  the 
place,  and  they  are  Mr.  Crewe's." 

"  Damn  Mr.  Crewe  1 "  said  Gideon. 

She  turned  a  pretty,  beseeching  glance  towards 
him. 

"  Oh,  Gideon !  I  hope  you  are  not  going  to  use 
language  like  that !  And  you  ought  not  to  swear 
before  a  lady — without  apologizing." 

"  I  apologize,  then,"  said  he,  without  moving  a 


OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON.  53 

muscle  of  his  face.  "  Only,  don't  stop  to  pick  up 
his  books,  or  I'll  do  it  again." 

"  Am  I  to  leave  them  on  the  floor,  then  ? " 

"  I'll  dispose  of  them,"  he  said,  giving  the  little 
volume  nearest  him  a  vicious  kick.  "  Crewe's 
books  indeed !  There  it  goes — all  to  pieces,  you 
see.  You  can't  use  that  one  again,  and  the 
other— 

"Don't  touch  that,  it's  a  Prayer-book,"  said 
Emmy,  with  superstitious  anxiety.  "I  should 
never  feel  happy  in  our  engagement  if  you  kicked 
a  Prayer-book,  Gideon.  Let  us  come  out,  now, 
and  have  a  nice  walk." 

Gideon  desisted  from  his  attack  on  the  books, 
shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  followed  her  out  of  the 
house.  The  neighbours,  peering  through  their  win- 
dows, were  very  much  amazed  to  see  Miss  Enderby 
turn  down  towards  the  river  instead  of  bending  her 
steps,  as  usual,  to  the  schools. 

"Ah,  it's  that  young  Blake!  Poor  girl!  I'm 
sorry  she's  taken  up  with  him.  It'll  bring  her  sor- 
row, I've  no  doubt — and  him  too,  maybe." 

But  nothing  could  have  been  further  than  sor- 
row from  the  minds  of  Gideon  and  Emmy  as  they 


54  OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON. 

strolled  in  the  meadows  that  afternoon,  or  sat  in 
the  shade  of  the  hawthorn  bushes  on  the  river-bank. 
They  were  supremely  happy — Gideon  because  he 
had  attained  the  desire  of  his  heart.  Emmy  be- 
cause she  was  secure  of  her  conquest.  For,  after 
those  first  few  imperious  moments,  Gideon  showed 
himself  as  humble  a  slave,  as  devoted  a  lover,  as 
any  woman  could  desire.  Only  once  did  the  old 
jealous  flame  blaze  out  when  he  was  talking  to 
Emmy  underneath  the  trees. 

"  That  man — Chiltern — you  did  not  let  him 
make  love  to  you,  did  you  ? " 

"  I  could  not  help  his  being — a  little— -fond  of 
me,  you  know,  Gideon,"  said  Emmy  softly. 

"  But  you  did  not  encourage  him  ?" 

"  Oh  no,  dear ! " 

"  Emmy — you  did  not  ever — let  him  kiss 
you?" 

lie  spoke  out  of  his  knowledge  of  the  ways  of 
Casterby  girls  of  Emmy's  class.  He  was  not  at  all 
surprised  at  the  colour  which  burned  on  her  cheeks 
as  she  replied — for,  of  course,  Emmy  was  more  sen- 
sitive, more  delicate-minded,  more  refined,  than  the 
other  <nrls  he  knew — 


OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON.  55 

"  Oh  no,  Gideon,  never !  " 

He  believed  her  implicitly ;  and  Emmy,  turning 
aside  her  flushed  face,  said  to  herself  that  of  one 
thing  she  was  certain — Gideon  must  never,  never 
know! 


m. 

"  If  thou  shouldst  never  see  my  face  again, 
Pray  for  my  soul." 

To  be  married  in  the  month  of  November  was 
not  the  choice  that  Emmy  Enderby  would  naturally 
have  made ;  but,  as  tilings  turned  out,  she  was  not 
well  able  to  help  herself.  Shortly  after  her  engage- 
ment to  Gideon,  her  father  died  suddenly,  leaving  his 
family  quite  unprovided  for ;  and  it  seemed  better 
for  Emmy  to  marry  Gideon  at  once  than  to  set  out 
on  a  career  of  her  own  as  nursery  governess  or 
shop-girl.  Gideon  was  young — only  just  twenty- 
one — and  she  was  eighteen,  but  he  was  earning 
enough  under  his  father  to  support  a  wife,  and  old 
Ol>ed  Pilcher's  house  on  the  river-bank  was  at  their 
disposal.  It  was  arranged,  therefore,  that  the  mar- 
riage should  take  place  on  the  first  of  November, 
that  Gideon  should  then  go  with  his  bride  for  a 
week's  visit  to  the  seaside,  and  return  at  the  end  of 
that  time  to  Uncle  Obed's  house. 

60 


OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON.  57 

Everything  was  arranged  with  the  most  com- 
monplace simplicity.  Emmy  and  her  mother  were, 
in  spite  of  their  recent  bereavement,  in  a  nutter  of 
excitement  about  wedding  clothes.  Mrs.  Blake  be- 
came unusually  good-tempered,  when  the  prospect 
of  losing  Gideon  as  a  house-mate  drew  nearer  to  real- 
ity ;  her  husband  was  benignly  well-satisfied.  Un- 
cle Obed  was  in  the  seventh  heaven  of  delight.  All 
that  remained  was  that  Gideon  should  show  himself 
the  conventionally  happy  bridegroom,  and  this,  for 
some  reason  or  other,  Gideon  declined  to  do.  He 
was  not  satisfactory. 

For  instance,  on  this  the  last  evening  of  his 
bachelorhood,  instead  of  an  uproarious  supper 
with  his  friends — instead,  even,  of  hanging  about 
the  house  of  his  beloved,  and  making  love  to  her  in 
the  best  parlour — he  had  chosen  to  come  away  from 
the  warm,  lighted  rooms,  to  stride  across  the  fields 
at  the  back  of  the  Market  Place,  and  away  to  the 
wood-yard,  to  his  little  den  below  the  eaves. 

Nobody  knew  that  he  was  there.  Emmy 
thought  he  had  gone  home,  a  little  vexed,  perhaps, 
because  she  could  not  give  him  all  the  attention 
that  he  desired ;  his  own  people  thought  that  he  was 


58  OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON. 

with  Emmy.  And  he  was  sitting  gloomily  in  the 
dark  and  the  cold  of  his  garret,  listening  to  the 
howl  of  the  wind  and  the  swish  of  the  rain-drops 
against  the  window-pane,  looking  out  at  the  black 
clouds  scurrying  across  the  heavens,  and  at  the 
twinkling  of  the  lights  in  the  little  town,  and  real- 
izing in  a  strange  new  way  that  he  was  beginning 
another  life,  and  that  his  wild-beast  love  of  solitude 
ought  henceforward  to  have  an  end. 

When  Emmy  was  his  wife,  he  would  not  be 
free  to  hide  himself  in  his  den,  and  hack  away  at 
pieces  of  wood  by  the  hour  together,  or  to  sit  and 
dream  of  things  that  could  never  be.  No  doubt  it 
was  a  foolish,  unmanly  taste,  this  love  of  solitude 
and  dreaming,  and  it  would  be  better  for  him  to 
give  it  up ;  but  his  heart  sank  a  little  within  him, 
nevertheless.  lie  supposed  it  was  because  he  was 
"  queer " ;  he  had  been  called  queer  all  his  life ; 
even  Emmy  called  him  queer,  although  she  loved 
him.  And  did  she  love  him  ?  There,  perhaps,  was 
the  rub. 

In  the  excitement,  the  almost  delirious  pleasure, 
of  the  last  few  months,  he  had  scarcely  stopped  to 
ask  liimself  the  question.  She  had  accepted  him, 


OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON.  5& 

and  sent  away  Fred  Chiltern  for  his  sake ;  surely 
that  was  an  answer.  But  now,  when  his  desire  was 
so  near  fulfilment,  a  cold  chill  of  doubt  passed 
through  him.  She  cared  about  her  frocks,  about 
her  future  home,  about  her  prospects,  but  did  she 
care  for  him  f 

She  laughed  at  his  tastes ;  she  could  not  see 
anything  interesting  in  his  unconsciously  artistic 
woodwork.  He  had  never  dared  to  tell  her  of  the 
thoughts  that  sometimes  filled  his  soul. 

"  It  will  be  better  when  we  are  married,"  he 
said  to  himself,  looking  out  into  the  darkness ; 
"  then  she  will  begin  to  understand." 

He  was  troubled  sometimes  by  a  certain  unde- 
fined likeness  between  her  and  his  half-sister  Carry, 
who  had  always  been  a  thorn  in  his  side.  They 
had  set  up  a  giggling  school-girl  friendship ;  and 
they  had  sometimes  combined  to  laugh  at  him,  and 
to  call  him  a  sulky  bear.  The  time  of  his  betrothal 
had  not  been  all  sunshine,  but  his  eager  love  had 
borne  him  through  its  darker  moments.  Now,  at 
the  last  moment,  he  was  conscious  of  this  odd  and 
(as  some  people  would  say)  unnatural  sinking  of 
heart  at  the  coming  change.  Perhaps  it  showed 


60  OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON. 

how  unlike  lie  was  to  others  of  his  kind.  The  feel- 
ing of  triumph,  of  elation,  had  left  him.  He  was 
not  precisely  nervous,  but  he  was  afraid. 

By  and  by  he  lighted  a  candle,  and  surveyed 
the  little  bare  room.  He  had  taken  out  of  it  any- 
thing that  was  ornamental ;  the  carvings,  the  trifles 
that  he  had  made  for  Emmy,  had  all  gone  to  the 
new  home.  Some  tools  and  pieces  of  wood  lay 
about  the  floor ;  a  little  bench  and  a  shelf  or  two 
were  all  the  remaining  furniture.  He  put  out  his 
hand  and  felt  along  the  dusty  shelf,  for  the  light  of 
the  candle  was  very  dim.  Presently  his  hand  came 
in  contact  with  the  objects  he  had  been  seeking : 
two  small  brown  books,  evidently  of  considerable 
age.  He  took  them  down,  brushed  the  dust  from 
their  backs,  and  looked  at  them.  Were  they  worth 
taking  with  him  to  Emmy's  new  home  ? 

Emmy  had  a  smart  bookcase  iilled  with  bright- 
ly -  bound  books.  Some  of  them  were  cheap 
standard  editions  of  the  poets,  given  to  her  as 
birthday  presents  or  as  prizes;  others  were  semi- 
religious  story-books — "Queechy,"  "Say  and  Seal," 
"  Father  Clement,"  and  the  like.  Emmy  had  read 
the  stories,  but  did  not  care  for  them;  she  pre- 


OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON.  61 

ferred  Mrs.  Henry  Wood  and  Miss  Braddon.  Into 
the  poets  she  had  never  glanced  at  all.  Scott, 
Cowper,  Wordsworth,  Shakespeare,  Thomson's 
"  Seasons,"  and  Young's  "  Night  Thoughts  " — what 
were  they  to  her?  But  she  liked  the  bindings, 
scarlet,  or  blue,  or  green,  with  a  good  deal  of 
gilding  on  the  backs;  and  she  was  quite  proud 
of  her  library.  Gideon  also  was  not  much  of  a 
reader,  and  knew  what  was  inside  those  bindings 
rather  less  than  herself.  He  did  not  think  that 
his  two  poor  little  shabby  books  would  look  well 
on  the  shelves  beside  Emmy's  grand  volumes,  yet 
he  did  not  like  to  throw  them  away.  He  had 
another  store  of  his  own — a  few  boys'  books,  a 
few  that  treated  of  popular  science ;  these  were  to 
fill  a  shelf  in  a  back  room  of  his  new  house,  but 
he  had  a  reluctance  to  let  these  two  go  amongst 
them.  Emmy  would  finger  them,  and  call  them 
rubbish;  and  he  would  not  be  able  to  tell  her 
why  he  valued  them.  He  knew  too  well  that 
singular  incapacity  for  speech  which  was  begin- 
ning to  attack  him  whenever  he  felt  most  deeply. 
He  had  never  read  either  of  these  books.  He 
cared  for  them  from  the  instinct  of  old  habit. 


62  OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON. 

His  grandmother  had  given  one  of  them  to  him 
long  ago,  and  told  him  its  history.  It  was  a  relic 
of  ancient  days — a  book  of  Latin  prayers,  totally 
unintelligible  to  her,  and  to  Gideon  as  well ;  but 
there  was  just  the  ghost  of  a  story  attached  to 
it.  In  brown  and  faded  ink  upon  the  flyleaf  was 
written  the  name  of  "  Jolrn  Gideon  Blake."  Be- 
low it  there  was  a  date,  "November  1st,  1584," 
and  a  few  words  which  ignorant  Gideon  could  not 
make  out,  but  which  his  grandmother  had  told 
him  signified,  "  Pray  for  my  soul."  A  Popish 
relic,  as  his  grandmother  had  said ;  and  the  John 
Gideon  Blake  to  whom  it  had  belonged  was  of 
course  no  ancestor  of  theirs,  but  only  a  collateral — 
a  good  thing,  considering  that  he  had  been  a 
Romish  priest,  beheaded  for  treason  in  the  reign 
of  Good  Queen  Bess.  The  date  in  the  book 
was  that  of  his  death,  written  with  his  own  hand 
before  he  went  to  execution,  as  well  as  the  words 
which  Gideon  could  not  read :  "  Ora  pro  anima 
mea."  Nothing  more  was  known  of  him,  and 
the  book  had  survived,  as  if  by  miracle,  to  the 
present  day,  having  been  carefully  kept,  it  was 
said,  by  the  priest's  brother,  who  had  transmitted 


OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON.  63 

it  to  his  Protestant  descendants.  Tims  it  came 
into  the  hands  of  Gideon,  who  had  indignantly 
demanded  (in  his  early  years)  why  he  should  have 
been  called  after  a  Popish  priest  ? 

"  There  was  always  a  Gideon  among  the 
Blakes,"  his  grandmother  had  told  him.  "  Your 
grandfather — he  was  Gideon,  too.  That's  why  I 
give  the  book  to '  you.  They  say  it's  valuable ; 
it  might  fetch  money  if  ever  you  wanted  to 
sell  it." 

Gideon  took  the  book  and  kept  it.  ^Nothing 
on  earth  would  have  induced  him  to  part  with  it 
again ;  in  spite  of  his  dislike  to  "  Papists,"  which 
he  had  caught  from  Obed  Pilcher  and  other  rela- 
tions, there  was  some  sort  of  distinction  in  hav- 
ing had  a  great-uncle,  ever  so  many  generations 
back,  who  was  important  enough  to  be  put  to 
death  for  treason.  Gideon  had  rather  a  sym- 
pathy with  anyone  who  rebelled  against  the  powers 
that  be. 

No,  he  would  not  take  this  book  with  him  to 
his  new  home.  He  would  let  it  lie  on  the  shelf. 
It  would  be  safe  there  ;  nobody  came  to  that  room 
save  himself. 


64  OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON. 

The   other  book  was   one   of  a  very  different 

school.      It  was  "  The  Pilgrim's  Progress,"  and  it 

t 

had  belonged  to  his  mother.  Gideon  had  never 
troubled  to  read  it,  but  as  it  had  been  his  mother's 
book,  he  did  not  like  to  throw  it  away.  He 
turned  over  the  leaves  musingly,  then  looked  once 
more  at  the  flyleaf  of  the  Latin  book,  which  was, 
in  fact,  an  ancient  breviary.  The  date .  caught 
his  eye,  "  November  the  second  " — why,  that  would 
be  his  own  wedding-day.  He  would  be  married 
on  the  very  day  when  this  kinsman  of  his  went 
to  his  death.  Gideon  caught  his  breath  a  little. 
It  flashed  across  his  mind  that  if  he  had  remem- 
bered, he  would  not  have  chosen  the  second  of 
November  for  his  weclding-day. 

lie  was  too  ignorant  to  know  anything  about 
Old  Style  and  New  Style,  and  the  difference  of 
the  calendar,  neither  had  he  any  religious  asso- 
ciation connected  with  the  day.  He  was  a  pro- 
vincial English  lad,  and  All  Souls'  Day  was  quite 
unknown  to  him.  But  there  was  something  that 
moved  him  in  the  thought  of  this  man,  of  his  own 
blood,  who  had  been  executed  on  the  very  day 
(as  Gideon  thought)  which  was  to  bring  happi- 


OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON.  6p 

ness  to  Emmy  and  himself.  And  he  had  wanted 
people  to  pray  for  his  soul !  A  Popish  supersti- 
tion, for  what  was  the  good  of  praying  for  the 
soul  of  one  who  was  dead  and  buried  ? — but  per- 
haps that  was  his  way  of  asking  to  be  remem- 
bered. Gideon  slipped  the  book  into  his  pocket, 
instead  of  putting  it  back  in  its  place,  and  said 
"  Poor  chap  !  "  to  himself,  with  a  thrill  of  involun- 
tary pity.  To  go  out  of  the  world  like  that, 
nearly  three  hundred  years  ago,  and  to  be  quite 
forgotten,  while  he,  Gideon,  was  alive  and  young 
and  about  to  marry  Emmy  Enderby ! 

He  blew  out  his  candle,  and  stood  staring  out  of 
the  window  for  some  time,  troubled  against  his  will, 
as  if  something — somebody — had  called  to  him  out 
of  that  past  of  which  he  knew  so  little.  A  more 
imaginative  person  than  Gideon  Blake  might  have 
fancied  that  the  dead  priest's  spirit  had  come  back 
to  earth  to  whisper  in  his  ear.  That  was  what 
would  have  been  said  in  mediaeval  times.  But 
Gideon  was  the  creature  of  his  circumstances,  and 
he  lived  in  a  milieu  which  forbade  morbid  imagin- 
ings of  the  sort.  A  prosaic  artisan,  in  a  prosaic 
country  town,  knowing  nothing  of  religion  save 


66  OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON. 

from  the  strongly  Protestant  point  of  view,  and 
utterly  intolerant  of  superstition — how  should  any 
such  foolish  notion  present  itself  even  to  his 
untutored  mind  ?  It  would  be  more  natural  to 
this  generation  to  suggest  that  even  in  this  com- 
monplace Lincolnshire  family  there  might  be  a 
sj>o/i — a  freak  of  Nature — a  "throw-back,"  by 
which  the  modern  young  carpenter  reproduced  in  a 
different  environment  the  nature,  the  instincts,  the 
tendencies  of  a  fanatical  Roman  priest  who  died 
for  his  cause  three  hundred  years  ago. 

He  turned  abruptly  from  the  window  at  last, 
and  left  the  room  without  making  any  further 
researches.  He  went  out  into  the  muddy,  un- 
lighted  lane,  and  made  his  way,  despite  wind  and 
rain,  into  the  main  street  of  the  town.  With  hands 
thrust  in  his  pockets,  and  head  down-bent,  he 
looked  extremely  unlike  a  bridegroom,  and  Emmy 
would  not  have  been  flattered  if  she  had  seen  him 
pacing  the  wet  street  in  this  guise.  Fortunately 
for  him,  lie  met  none  of  his  acquaintances;  the 
rain  poured  too  heavily  for  any  of  them  to  be 
abroad,  and  the  pavements  were  deserted. 

A  flood  of  light  on  the  wet  flags  before  him 


OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON.  67 

attracted  his  attention.  He  looked  up  and  started  a 
little  at  finding  himself  just  before  the  iron  gates 
that  led  to  the  Koman  Catholic  chapel,  which  had  a 
small  green  space  between  its  doors  and  the  road. 
The  doors  were  open,  and  one  or  two  people  were 
putting  up  their  umbrellas  and  coming  towards  the 
gate.  Gideon  hesitated.  It  seemed  to  him  a 
curious  coincidence  that  he  should  be  standing  at 
this  gate  so  soon  after  looking  at  the  book  once 
used  by  the  one  Romanist  (so  far  as  he  knew)  in  his 
family.  There  was  no  coincidence,  of  course, 
about  the  matter,  for  he  passed  close  by  that  gate 
every  day  of  his  life,  but  he  had  never  before  felt 
inclined  to  enter  it.  Some  curiosity  stirred  him  ; 
he  wondered,  for  the  first  time,  what  these  ignorant 
Papists  believed ;  he  wondered  whether  anyone  in 
that  little  chapel  could  explain  to  him  why  John 
Gideon  Blake,  priest,  had  desired  his  friends  to 
pray  for  his  soul.  He  went  inside  the  gates. 

He  was  not  likely  to  get  much  for  his  pains. 
It  was  between  eight  and  nine  o'clock,  and  the  con- 
gregation was  dispersing  after  an  eloquent  and 
impassioned  sermon  from  a  stranger  upon  the 
blessedness  of  the  saints.  Gideon  knew  nothing 


f,8  OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON. 

about  saints,  and  would  only  have  stared  if  anyone 
had  told  him  that  it  was  All  Saints'  Day.  He 
went  into  the  church  and  gazed  blankly  at  the 
empty  seats,  at  the  wealth  of  white  flowers  on  the 
altar,  at  the  rows  of  candles  which  someone  was 
putting  out  with  an  extinguisher  at  the  end  of  a 
stick.  A  great  wooden  crucifix  brought  from  Nu- 
remberg, life-size  and  coloured,  startled  him  more 
than  he  would  have  liked  to  say.  He  had  never 
seen  such  a  thing  before.  He  looked  round, 
caught  a  woman's  eyes  fixed  on  him  in  wonder, 
and  retreated  in  guilty  confusion  to  the  vestibule. 
Here  for  a  moment  he  waited,  for  the  rain  was 
coming  down  in  torrents.  He  thought  himself 
a  fool  for  having  come  out  at  all. 

"  Can  I  do  anything  for  you  ? "  said  a  voice 
at  his  ear. 

He  turned  hastily,  and  found  that  the  woman 
whom  he  had  seen  looking  at  him,  had  followed 
him  out  of  the  church.  Woman  ?  She  was  not 
a  woman,  she  was  a  girl  only,  and  he  knew  her 
face.  She  was  one  of  the  Lisle  family  at  Casterby 
Park ;  they  were  all  Roman  Catholics,  he  knew. 
There  were  two  or  three  girls;  this  one  was  the 


OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON.  69 

eldest,  but  she  was  always  spoken  of  as  "Miss 
Frances,"  because  she  had  an  aunt  living  at  the 
Park  who  was  Miss  Lisle. 

•  "  I  mean,"  the  sweet  clear  voice  went  on,  "  did 
you  want  anything  ?  did  you  want  anybody  in 
particular  ? " 

"No,"  said  Gideon.  He  felt  that  his  answer 
was  abrupt  and  harsh,  but  he  did  not  know  what 
to  say.  He  wished  desperately  that  he  had  never 
come. 

"  I  am  waiting  for  my  uncle — Father  O'Brien 
is  my  uncle,"  said  the  young  lady,  alluding,  as 
Gideon  knew,  to  the  priest  who  served  the  little 
chapel  at  Casterby.  "  He  is  going  to  drive  home 
with  me.  I  thought  you  might  perhaps  be  look- 
ing about  for  him." 

Did  she  think  him  a  possible  convert  ?  Gideon 
scowled  at  her  as  the  thought  crossed  his  mind. 
And  yet  she  did  not  look  as  if  she  had  any  ulterior 
motive  for  her  question.  There  was  something 
in  her  face  that  pleased  him,  although  he  could 
not  have  told  you  why. 

Frances  Lisle  was  nineteen  years  of  age.  She 
was  rather  under  than  over  the  middle  height, 


70  OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON. 

and  she  had  never  been  considered  beautiful.  But 
there  was  a  peculiar  serenity  on  the  broad  in- 
telligent brows,  and  in  the  soft  gray  eyes,  which 
made  her  face  pleasant  to  look  upon.  Her  rip- 
pling brown  hair  was  fastened  into  a  soft  knot 
behind  her  head,  very  unlike  the  hard  glossy 
lump  called  a  chignon  in  these  days.  Her  face 
had  very  little  colour,  and  the  sensitive  curves 
of  her  lips  were  none  the  less  beautiful  because 
they  were,  in  a  sense,  contradicted  by  the  square- 
ness of  her  white  chin.  She  had  the  look  of  a 
supremely  reasonable  woman,  of  a  woman  whose 
gentleness  comes  from  sympathy,  comprehension, 
intelligence,  not  from  weak  compliance.  It  de- 
pended a  little  upon  your  own  nature  whether 
you  were  more  struck  by  the  sweetness  or  the 
strength  of  her  face.  Gideon  saw  the  strength. 

"  I  came  in  out  of  curiosity,"  he  said,  almost 
sullenly.  "  I  saw  the  doors  open,  and  I  won- 
dered what  was  going  on." 

"  Oh  yes,  I  see.  It  is  All  Saints'  Day,  and 
we  have  had  Benediction  and  a  sermon,"  said 
Frances,  simply.  "  You  are  not — a  Catholic  ? " 

Gideon   shook   his  head   vehemently. 


OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON.  fl 

"  Oh  dear  no !  But  "—faltering  a  little—"  I 
suppose  I  had  a  relation  once  who  was.  His 
name  is  in  this  book,"  he  said,  producing  the  little 
brown  volume  from  his  pocket.  He  had  imme- 
diately afterwards  a  sensation  of  shame  at  the 
thought  that  he  could  show  to  this  stranger  a  book 
which  he  had  kept  carefully  from  Emmy's  eyes. 
"I  was  told  by  my  grandmother  that  he  was  a 
priest,  and  I  wanted  to  know  what  sort  of  a  book 
it  was.  I  think  that  was  partly  my  idea  in  coming 
in  here ;  I  thought  that  Mr.  O'Brien  would  tell 
me,  perhaps." 

He  purposely  abstained  from  saying  Father 
O'Brien,  although  the  good  old  priest  was  usually 
known  •  by  that  title ;  but  Frances  did  not  notice 
the  omission.  She  made  a  little  exclamation  when 
her  eyes  fell  on  the  fly-leaf  of  the  book. 

"  Oh  ! "  she  said,  colouring — Gideon  could  not 
imagine  why;  but  it  was  from  pure  surprise  and 
pleasure — "  this  is  very  interesting !  He  was  a 
relation  of  yours,  was  he  ?  This  is  a  breviary 
— a  service-book,  used  by  our  priests,  you  know. 
What  an  old  book!" 

She   looked   up  at  him  questioningly.     Gideon 


72  OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON. 

gave  the  information  that  he  felt  she  wanted  from 
him,  though  with  a  curious  reluctance. 

"  He  was  a  brother  of  my  great-great — more 
great  than  I  can  count — great-grandfather,  and  he 
was  beheaded  for  treason  in  Queen  Elizabeth's 
time,''  he  said  doggedly.  He  could  not  at  all  under- 
stand the  flash  of  emotion  that  passed  across  the 
young  lady's  face. 

"  He  was  a  martyr,  then  ?  He  died  for  his 
faith  ?  How  splendid  for  you  to  have  such  an  ex- 
ample before  you !  But  I  forgot — you  are  not  of 
our  religion.  Oh,  what  a  pity  1 " 

Gideon  held  out  his  hand  for  the  book. 

"  I'm  no  Papist,  certainly,"  he  said.  "  If  he 
was  executed  for  treason,  I  dare  say  it  served  him 
right.  I  felt  a  little  curious  about  the  book ;  that's 
why  I  asked  what  it  was.  I  don't  know  Latin  my- 
self." 

"  But  it  is  a  relic — a  real  relic,"  said  Frances, 
over  whose  eyes  a  sudden  cloud  of  pity  had  stolen. 
She  was  what  the  world  calls  a  bigot — a  devote  in 
her  way — having  been  educated  in  a  convent,  and 
taught  to  look  upon  England  as  a  heathen,  unregen- 
erate  land.  She  could  not  help  feeling  as  if  this 


OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON.  73 

young  man  were  a  savage,  into  whose  ignorant 
hands  some  very  precious  thing  had  fallen,  of  which 
he  could  not  possibly  estimate  the  value  and  advan- 
tage. She  was  sorry  to  give  him  back  the  book. 
•'  I  wish  you  would  let  my  uncle  see  it ;  he  would 
be  very  much  interested.  We  should  value  it  very 
much  if  you  thought  of  parting  with  it — 

"  Parting  with  it ! "  cried  Gideon,  almost  an- 
grily. "  I  should  never  think  of  such  a  thing. 
Why,  it's  been  in  the  family  for  three  hundred 
years.  I  only  wanted  to  know  what  the  book  was 
about." 

"  Would  you  like  some  of  it  to  be  translated  and 
explained  to  you  ? "  said  Frances  quickly. 

"No,  thank  you.  It's  only  prayers  and  serv- 
ices, you  say — I  don't  want  them.  I  thought  it 
might  be  something  different.  It  isn't  the  book  I 
care  so  much  about  as  the — the  name — and  all 
that." 

"  Yes,  the  name  and  the  inscription,"  said  Miss 
Lisle.  " '  Pray  for  my  soul.'  You  don't  do  that, 
do  you,  as  you  are  a  Protestant  ?  But — may  I 
look  again  ?  Why,  to-morrow  is  the  date  of  his 
death." 


74  OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON. 

"  And  my  wedding-day,"  said  Gideon,  with  an 
odd  smile. 

"  Is  it  really  ?  Yes,  I  remember  hearing  of  it. 
Your  father  comes  to  the  Park  sometimes,  I  think," 
said  Frances,  dropping  her  eyes.  She  had  only  just 
made  out  his  identity,  and  she  was  a  little  sorry  that 
he  was  the  black  sheep  of  whom  she  had  sometimes 
heard.  But  she  was  not  sorry  that  she  had  spoken 
to  him.  In  spite  of  her  simplicity,  she  knew  quite 
well  that  she  was  one  of  the  great  ladies  of  the 
place,  and  that  it  was  quite  within  her  right  to 
speak  to  whomsoever  she  pleased  in  Casterby.  The 
Blakes  were  her  father's  tenants,  and  Joseph  Blake 
was  a  respectable  person  and  a  clever  workman : 
she  knew  that.  "All  Souls'  Day  seems  to  us  a 
strange  day  for  a  marriage,"  she  went  on,  with  a 
little  smile,  "  because  it  is  on  that  day  that  we  pray 
for  our  dead.  I  will  have  a  Mass  said  for  this  mar- 
tyred priest,  your  great-uncle,  Mr.  Blake,  on  the 
second  of  November  every  year.  He  shall  not  be 
forgotten  any  more,  although  his  own  people  do  not 
pray  for  his  soul." 

Gideon  turned  a  startled,  incredulous  eye  upon 
her. 


OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON.  75 

"  Pray  ?  What's  the  good  of  praying  ? "  he 
said,  almost  rudely.  Then  he  took  the  book  out  of 
her  hand  and  put  it  back  into  his  pocket.  "  I  sup- 
pose I  ought  to  thank  you — in  his  name — but  I 
can't  see  the  good  of  it." 

"  I  shall  pray  for  you,  too,  then,"  said  Frances, 
her  gray  eyes  shimmering  through  a  mist  of  tears. 
"  Perhaps  you  will  be  glad  of  it  some  day.  Here  is 
my  uncle.  May  I  introduce  you  to  him,  and  show 
him  the  book  ?  " 

"  No,  no — I'd  rather  not,"  said  Gideon,  hur- 
riedly. He  was  utterly  confused  and  astonished  by 
her  words,  and  did  not  know  the  extent  of  his  own 
discourtesy.  "  I'm  very  much  obliged  to  you,  but  I 
must  go." 

"Good-bye,  then,"  said  Frances,  extending  a 
small  ungloved  hand.  "  I  shall  think  of  you  to- 
morrow. I  hope  you  will  be  happy.  And  I  will 
not  forget  to  pray  for  your  uncle's  soul." 

"  Why,  what  good  will  it  do  him  ? "  said  Gideon, 
as  he  awkwardly  shook  her  hand  and  turned  away. 

He  plunged  into  the  darkness,  regardless  of  the 
rain,  only  anxious  to  escape  from  Frances's  gentle 
enthusiasm,  and  from  the  peering  inquisition  of  the 


76  OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON. 

sacristan,  who  was  hovering  in  the  background,  and 
the  keen,  kindly  eyes  of  Father  O'Brien,  who  came 
hurriedly  down  the  aisle  in  search  of  his  niece. 
The  carriage  from  the  Park  was  waiting  at  the 
gate ;  its  red  lamps  shone  through  the  misty  gloom, 
and  the  horses,  invisible  from  the  chapel-door, 
pawed  the  ground  and  made  the  harness  jingle  in 
an  impatience  which  the  coachman  shared.  Father 
O'Brien  handed  his  niece  into  the  carriage,  and 
they  drove  away. 

"  And  who  was  that  young  fellow  you  were 
talking  with,  Frances?"  asked  the  uncle  during 
that  homeward  drive. 

Frances  told  the  story,  ending  with  some  lamen- 
tation over  the  fate  of  the  book  in  Gideon's 
keeping. 

"  The  lad  has  a  right  to  it,"  said  the  priest  good- 
humouredly.  "And  it  may  be  the  means  of  his 
conversion  in  the  long-run." 

"Ah,  yes!"  said   Frances  eagerly.     "I  hardly 
thought  of  that.     There  have  been  cases,  have  there 
not,  where  the  possession  of  a  precious  relic — 
She   stopped   short,  scarcely   knowing  why.     "At 
any  rate,  we  can  pray  for  him,"  she  added  in  a  lower 


OUT  OF   DUE  SEASON.  77 

tone,  "  that  lie  may  some  day  become  a  member  of 
the  one  true  Church." 

It  may  be  as  well  to  say  here,  once  and  for  all, 
that  Frances  Lisle's  hopes  were  never  realized. 
Gideon  Blake  was  not  converted  to  Roman  Cathol- 
icism at  any  period  of  his  life.  His  creed,  such  as 
it  was,  was  fashioned  on  very  different  lines ;  but 
the  important  thing  in  this  interview  between  him- 
self and  Frances  was  the  formation  of  a  subtle  bond 
of  sympathy  which  outlived  all  divergencies  of 
creed. 

While  Frances  and  her  uncle  were  swiftly  and 
luxuriously  conveyed  to  their  abode,  Gideon,  with  a 
strange  sense  of  tingling  confusion,  made  his  way 
through  the  darkness  to  Obed  Pilcher's  little  house 
beside  the  river.  There  was  a  side  road  or  lane  off 
the  Market  Place;  which  brought  him  to  its  door. 
It  was  badly  lighted,  but  it  was  better  than  the 
other  ways  of  approach — the  river  path  on  the  one 
side,  or  the  fields  upon  the  other.  In  summer  the 
situation  was  delightful :  the  gleaming  river  just 
outside  the  garden  palings,  the  fragrant  meadows 
stretching  away  into  the  distance,  the  town  so  near, 

and  yet  almost  out  of  sight.     But  in  winter !     For 
6 


78  OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON. 

the  first  time  Gideon  had  a  doubt.  The  fields  were 
full  of  mist,  and  he  could  hear  the  river  lapping  up 
to  the  very  palings  of  his  garden.  He  remembered 
that  he  had  seen  the  meadows  under  water  many  a 
time,  and  he  wondered,  a  little  humorously, 
whether  Emmy  would  dislike  the  darkness  and  the 
damp. 

He  had  almost  to  feel  his  way  up  the  garden- 
path  to  the  green  door.  The  house  was  little  more 
than  a  cottage,  but  a  pretty  cottage,  with  creeping 
plants  growing  over  the  brickwork,  and  a  little 
porch  in  front.  The  garden  was  full  of  sweetest 
old-fashioned  flowers  in  the  summer-time,  and 
shaded  by  tall  poplars  and  a  great  beech-tree.  But 
now  the  wind  whistled  in  the  bare  branches,  and 
the  garden-beds  were  desolate.  Gideon  shivered  as 
he  pushed  open  the  door. 

Obed  Pilcher  came  out  to  meet  him.  He  had 
been  sitting  in  the  kitchen  with  his  pipe.  The 
front  parlour  had  been  refurnished  for  Emmy's  use, 
and  he  would  not  desecrate  it  with  smoke.  His 
weather-beaten  face  beamed  with  smiles  when  he 
saw  Gideon,  but  the  smiles  were  succeeded  by  a 
look  of  anxiety. 


OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON.  79 

"  Why,  Gideon,"  he  said,  "  thou'rt  wet  through, 
lad !  Thee  shouldn't  be  out  when  it  siles  down  o' 
rain  like  this — on  th'  neet  afore  th'  wedding, 
too!" 

"  I'm  all  right,"  said  Gideon,  shaking  himself 
like  a  big  dog.  "  I'll  sit  by  the  fire  a  bit,  and  take 
a  drop  of  whisky  if  you've  any  to  give  me,  and  I 
shall  be  all  right." 

"  Come  on,  then,"  said  Obed. 

He  led  the  way  into  the  clean,  red-bricked,  yel- 
low-walled kitchen,  and  stirred  up  the  fire,  until  its 
flames  were  reflected  in  every  brightly-burnished 
tin  or  plate  that  stood  upon  the  dresser  shelves. 
Gideon  took  off  his  coat  and  boots,  and  sat  down  to 
dry  himself  in  silence.  Obed  mixed  him  a  stiff 
glass  of  hot  whisky-and-water,  with  the  view  of 
warming  and  cheering  the  intending  bridegroom. 
But  he  wondered  a  little  when  he  saw  Gideon  toss 
it  off ;  he  had  not  often  seen  "  the  lad  "  touch  any- 
thing stronger  than  water.  It  suddenly  crossed  the 
old  man's  mind  that  it  would  be  a  terrible  thing  if 
Gideon,  with  his  fierce  temper  and  great  physical 
strength,  should  at  any  time  "  take  to  drink." 

Some  time  elapsed  before  the  young  man  spoke. 


80  OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON. 

lie  roused  himself  to  glance  round  the  kitchen  and 
to  say,  rather  hesitatingly : 

"  Will  she  like  it,  do  you  think  ? " 

"  Emmy  ?  She'll  be  a  fool  if  she  don't ! "  said 
Uncle  Obed. 

"  I'd  like  to  look  at  the  parlour  again,"  said 
Gideon. 

He  took  up  a  candle,  and  went  in  his  stockinged 
feet  down  the  little  passage  to  the  sitting-room,  with 
old  Obed  after  him.  Both  men  religiously  left  their 
pipes  behind. 

The  sitting-room  was  furnished  according  to  the 
dictates  of  Casterby  taste  at  that  time.  It  had  a 
Kidderminster  carpet,  with  red  and  white  flowers 
on  a  green  ground,  a  "  suite  "  of  furniture  of  walnut 
and  green  damask,  green  curtains  to  match,  and  stiff 
lace  ones  inside  them,  partially  concealing  the  new 
Venetian  blinds.  There  was  a  gilt-framed  mirror 
over  the  marble  mantelpiece,  and  some  oleographs 
on  the  walls.  Emmy's  smart  bookcase  and  cottage 
piano  also  helped  to  fill  the  room,  and  white  anti- 
macassars abounded  in  legion.  It  was  a  stiff,  inar- 
tintic,  glaring  little  room,  with  its  white  and  gold 
wall-paper,  and  its  ornaments  of  green  glass  vases, 


OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON.  81 

with  gilt  snakes  round  their  stems ;  but  to  Gideon, 
wlio  knew  no  better,  it  was  like  a  shrine. 

"  It's  a  real  lady's  room,"  said  Obed  admiringly. 

"  Ay,  but  it's  not  near  good  enough  for  her," 
Gideon  replied.  He  walked  round  the  room,  touch- 
ing a  cushion  here,  an  antimacassar  there,  with  a 
caressing  hand.  "  It's  as  much  as  I  can  do,"  he 
said  in  a  low  tone ;  "  but  when  I  get  on  in  the 
world,  Uncle  Obed,  I'll  make  a  palace  for  her.  I'd 
like  a  house  like  the  Squire's,  with  all  those  paint- 
ings and  carvings  that  I've  seen  in  the  hall  when  I 
went  with  father ;  they're  much  prettier,  of  course, 
than  anything  I  could  get  for  Emmy,  but  I  suppose 
they  cost  a  lot  of  money.  I  should  like  her  to  have 
everything  of  the  best." 

"  Eh,  lad,  you'll  get  all  you  want  in  time,"  said 
his  uncle. 

"  Well,  I  hope  so,  if  I  work  hard.  I  mean  to 
work  hard — for  her  sake ;  and  yours  too,  Uncle 
Obed.  But  for  you,  I  mightn't  have  a  home  to 
give  her — a  nest  for  the  bird.  We  shall  be  very 
happy  here,  Emmy  and  I." 

There  was  a  wistful  tone  in  his  voice.  It  was 
almost  as  though  he  were  answering  some  objection 


82  OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON. 

advanced  by  another  voice — disposing  of  scruples, 
as  if  he  were  called  upon  to  defend  himself.  Obed 
grunted,  and  made  no  other  answer;  he  did  not 
understand  the  mood. 

"  I'm  going  to  turn  over  a  new  leaf  when  I'm 
married,"  said  Gideon,  pacing  about  the  room. 
"  I've  thought  it  over  a  good  many  times.  I  told 
Emmy  so — at  least,  I  tried  to  tell  her.  She  knows 
so  little  of  the  world  that,  of  course,  she  could  not 
exactly  understand ;  but  she  will  be  glad  to  think 
of  it  by  and  by.  I  think  I'll  go  to  church  on  Sun- 
day mornings,  Uncle  Obed,  and  sit  with  Emmy. 
It's  all  very  well  to  loaf  about  in  the  fields  of  a 
Sunday,  smoking  and  enjoying  one's  self;  but  it 
isn't  quite  the  thing  for  a  married  man,  is  it? 

And,  besides,  after  a  time  there  may  be Well, 

anyhow,  I  shall  be  a  different  man  when  Emmy's 
here." 

"  Lord  bless  thee,  lad ! "  said  the  old  man, 
"  I  doan't  knaw  about  Emmy ;  but  I  haven't  much 
fear  for  thee." 


IT. 

"  Passing  the  love  of  woman." 

"  You  sliall  not  go,"  said  Gideon. 

"  I  shall  go  if  I  like,"  Emmy  cried  out  angrily. 

There  was  a  pause.  Husband  and  wife  faced 
each  other  with  an  ugly  look  in  their  eyes.  Emmy 
was  scarlet  with  wrath ;  but  Gideon  was  deadly 
white. 

He  spoke  at  last,  in  a  low  but  distinct  tone. 

"  I'm  your  husband — and  your  master.  I  for- 
bid you  to  go." 

She  laughed  mockingly. 

"  I  should  like  to  know  how  you  can  prevent 
me.  I  shall  do  just  as  I  choose.  Master  indeed ! 
Do  you  think  I  am  going  to  be  a  slave  ?  But  it  is 
just  what  I  might  have  expected.  Everybody 
warned  me  against  your  awful,  abominable  temper. 
Everybody  told  me  that  I  had  a  very  small  chance 
of  happiness.  And  I  have  had  none  at  all.  You 

83 


84  OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON. 

have  made  me  miserable — miserable  /  and  I  wish  I 
had  never  married  you ! " 

"  You  needn't  say  that  in  front  of  the  boy," 
said  Gideon  with  some  difficulty.  But  Emmy  was 
not  to  be  stayed. 

"  Oh,  indeed !  The  boy  is  to  be  considered  be- 
fore me,  is  he  ?  I  only  wish  he  were  old  enough  to 
understand  what  a  tyrant  his  father  is.  Perhaps, 
when  lie  is  grown  up,  I  shall  have  somebody  to 
defend  me " 

"  You  don't  need  defence — your  tongue's 
enough.  Do  as  you  please ;  but  you  shall  not  take 
the  boy  with  you.  John,  come  here." 

Gideon  held  out  his  hand  to  a  little  fellow  of 
three  years  old,  who  stood  against  the  wall  with 
stiff  white  petticoats  outspread,  and  hands  behind 
his  back,  a  puzzled,  uncomprehending  spectator  of 
the  scene.  Some  instinct  of  affection  for  his  old 
dream  had  made  the  father  name  his  child  John 
Gideon,  after  the  long-dead  owner  of  the  breviary. 
Emmy  had  been  very  angry  about  the  name.  The 
baby  had  been  baptized  in  a  hurry  while  the 
mother  was  ill,  and  she  had  meant  him  to  be  named 
Reginald  Arthur.  She  now  called  the  boy  Johnny 


OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON.  85 

or  Jacky ;  but  Gideon  seldom  called  him  anything 
but  John,  which  seemed  somewhat  solemn  and 
inapplicable  to  the  fair  little  fellow,  with  dark 
eyes  and  curls  of  gold,  sturdy  and  chubby  as 
he  was. 

"  Come  here,  John,"  Gideon  repeated,  and  the 
boy  ran  towards  him  and  hid  his  face  against  his 
father's  knee.  He  was  a  sensitive  child,  and  quiv- 
ered all  over  when  he  heard  his  mother's  passionate 
voice. 

"It's  always  the  same!  You  always  interfere 
between  me  and  any  little  pleasure  I  may  be  going 
to  have.  Why  shouldn't  I  go  out  on  the  river  ? 
Why  shouldn't  I  take  Jacky  ?  If  you  are  so  dull 
and  stupid  as  not  to  want  any  amusement  yourself, 
you  need  not  prevent  me  from  having  any." 

Her  voice  was  shrill,  her  face  red  from  excite- 
ment ;  her  hair  was  loosened  and  hung  half  down 
her  back.  Gideon  looked  at  her  unemotionally, 
and  wondered  for  a  moment  where  her  prettiness 
had  gone.  Her  skin  had  lost  its  delicacy,  and  her 
dress  was  untidy.  She  hardly  looked  like  the 
Emmy  Enderby  who  had  won  Gideon's  heart. 

As  for  him,  he  was  less  altered  than  his  wife, 


86  OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON. 

and  the  alteration  was,  in  some  respects,  for  the 
better.  He  was  still  spare  and  sinewy;  but  his 
shoulders  had  broadened,  and  his  frame  filled  out, 
and  his  aspect  was  that  of  a  more  prosperous  man 
than  in  days  of  old.  His  shock  of  black  hair  still 
made  his  face  look  heavy,  and  his  brows  were  bent 
in  a  perpetual  frown ;  but  his  features  and  expres- 
sion had  gained  definiteness,  and  there  was  less  sul- 
len gloom  in  his  bearing  than  in  his  boyhood.  But 
the  added  brightness  in  his  life  did  not  come  from 
Emmy — only  from  Emmy's  child. 

The  cause  of  dispute  was  simple.  In  the  four 
and  a  half  years  that  had  elapsed  since  Gideon's 
marriage,  the  Saturday  evening  excursions  down 
the  river  in  Mortlock's  barge  had  fallen  greatly  into 
disrepute.  Cases  of  dmnkenness  were  never  rare, 
and  some  serious  scandals  owed  their  origin  to  these 
Saturday  merry-makings.  Casterby  was  not  strict 
in  its  views ;  but  it  rose  up  and  drew  the  line  some- 
where, now  and  then,  and  it  had  decreed  that  Mort- 
lock's barge,  at  a  shilling  a  head,  was  not  respecta- 
ble. But  Mrs.  Gideon  Blake  greatly  resented  this 
deprivation  of  her  privileges,  and  had  announced 
her  intention  of  going  to  the  Three  Bridges  (the 


OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON.  87 

name  of  a  very  popular  old  inn  at  some  distance 
down  the  river),  with  some  of  her  friends,  on  the 
first  Saturday  in  July.  Mr.  Fred  Chiltern,  with 
his  "  young  lady "  ;  Carry  Blake,  now  seventeen 
and  the  biggest  flirt  in  Casterby ;  and  several  other 
young  people,  were  to  be  of  the  party — to  which, 
moreover,  Emmy  had  determined  to  take  her  little 
boy.  And  then  Gideon  had  put  down  his  foot,  and 
declared  -that  she  should  not  go. 

It  was  Saturday  afternoon  when  he  first  realized 
what  his  wife  intended  to  do.  And  he  had  stub- 
bornly and  imperiously  ordered  her  to  take  off  her 
finery  and  remain  at  home.  The  boat  was  timed  to 
start  at  five,  and  Gideon's  interference  took  place 
at  four  o'clock,  an  hour  late  enough  to  give  his  wife 
some  cause  for  vexation.  She  was  just  on  the  point 
of  beginning  to  dress  for  the  jaunt  when  he  in- 
terfered. 

"  John  shall  not  go,"  said  the  father,  putting  his 
hand  on  the  boy's  head.  "  If  for  no  other  reason, 
the  weather's  damp,  and  the  boy's  chest  is  weak, 
and  he's  not  fit  to  be  kept  up  till  eleven  o'clock.  I 
won't  have  it.  Do  as  you  like  yourself,  but  you 
shall  not  take  John." 


88  OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON. 

"  I  know  that  you  are  fonder  of  John  than  you 
are  of  me,"  said  Emmy  spitefully. 

Gideon's  dark  eyes  glowed ;  he  raised  them  to 
her  face  with  a  strange  expression,  but  lowered 
them  almost  immediately. 

"  Am  I  ? "  he  said. 

"  Yes,  you  are,  and  you  know  it.  Perhaps  you'd 
like  me  to  leave  you  altogether,  and  then  you  and 
Jacky  and  Uncle  Obed  could  have  the  -place  to 
yourselves.  You'd  like  that,  wouldn't  you  ? " 

If  Gideon's  eyes  had  glowed  before,  they  blazed 
now.  lie  put  John  away  from  him,  and  took  a 
step  towards  his  wife,  with  livid  face  and  threaten- 
ing hand.  He  had  no  intention  of  striking  her,  but 
he  scarcely  knew  what  he  did. 

"  Leave  me  ? "  he  said.     "  Leave  me  ? " 

He  said  nothing  more,  but  he  seized  her  by  the 
shoulder,  and  Emmy  cowered  and  shrieked  under 
the  iron  grip  of  his  strong  hand. 

"  G  ideon,  don't !     You  hurt  me ! " 

"Hurt  you!"  he  exclaimed  violently.  "Do 
you  never  hurt  me?" 

The  force  of  his  hand  shook  her  slight  form, 
and  although  ho  had  no  intention  of  injuring  her, 


OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON.  89 

the  very  suddenness  with  which  he  removed  his 
grasp  sent  her  backward  against  the  wall  breath- 
less and  sobbing  with  fear.  He  walked  straight  out 
of  the  room  and  out  of  the  house,  almost  beside 
himself  with  pain  and  passion,  little  heeding  the 
hysterical  cry  which  his  wife  sent  after  him — a  cry 
that  declared  herself  all  the  more  determined  to 
have  her  own  way.  He  was  blind  and  deaf  with 
anger,  and  with  something  else  which  was  not 
anger,  but  bitterness  and  regret  and  sickening  dis- 
appointment. He  loved  Emmy  still,  but  it  had 
become  very  plain  to  him  of  late  that  she  cared 
little  about  him. 

He  did  not  stop  to  consider  whether  or  not  she 
would  obey  him.  He  supposed  that  she  would  go 
her  own  way,  leaving  the  child  in  the  care  of  the 
maid  servant.  Uncle  Obed  would  be  in  presently, 
and  he  was  always  glad  to  look  after  little  John. 
Gideon  turned  into  the  fields,  where,  by  a  footpath, 
he  could  make  his  way  to  the  wood-yard  in  Dane 
Street,  and  betook  himself  to  the  loft  where  he  had 
spent  so  many  idle  hours  in  days  gone  by. 

It  was  still  his  place  of  refuge  in  moments 
when  he  wanted  to  be  alone.  He  flung  himself 


90  OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON. 

down  on  the  bench  before  the  window,  and  rested 
his  chin  in  Ids  hands.  He  did  not  look  at  the 
glowing  landscape,  or  fall  into  his  old  habit  of 
dreams.  He  had  lost  the  tendency  to  that  side 
of  life.  His  mind  was  absorbed  by  the  consid- 
eration of  things  as  they  were  now. 

For  some  inontlis  his  marriage  had  seemed 
perfectly  satisfactory.  Emmy  had  grumbled  more 
or  less  at  the  quietness  of  her  life,  at  the  damp- 
ness of  the  house,  at  the  smallness  of  her  hus- 
band's income,  but  the  complaints  had  not  meant 
unhappiness.  Emmy  was  one  of  the  women  who 
always  grumbled.  She  felt  herself  personally 
injured  if  anyone  in  her  own  class  of  life  had 
a  finer  house,  a  more  expensive  gown  than  her- 
self; it  seemed  to  her  that  Providence  was 
treating  her  shabbily.  The  best  things,  as  far 
as  she  knew  them,  were  here  by  right,  and  when 
they  were  not  showered  into  her  lap,  somebody 
—it  might  be  the  Governor  of  the  world,  or  it 
might  be  only  her  husband,  but  somebody — was 
to  blame.  When  she  married,  her  views  of  what 
was  due  to  her  were  limited  by  ignorance.  Un- 
fortunately, every  month  and  every  year  increased 


OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON.  91 

her  knowledge  of  the  various  pleasures  and  lux- 
uries attainable  in  this  world,  and  her  opportu- 
nities of  achieving  them — not  to  speak  of  her 
husband's  income — did  not  increase  in  a  like 
ratio. 

At  first  Gideon  took  no  notice.  He  was  not 
by  nature  inclined  to  notice  small  things,  and 
his  wife's  complaints  were  mere  pin-pricks.  After 
John's  birth,  however,  they  became  more  shrill 
and  insistent,  and  he  began  to  be  vaguely  an- 
noyed by  them.  But  there  was  no  serious  quarrel 
until  he  discovered  that  her  fondness  for  dress 
had  involved  her  deeply  in  debt,  and  that  he 
was  responsible  for  far  more  than  he  knew  how 
to  pay.  Then  he  spoke  angrily,  and  drove  his 
wife  into  a  hysterical  fit  of  weeping,  which 
frightened  him  and  made  him  for  the  moment 
amenable  to  her  slightest  wish.  But  when  there 
came  to  be  no  novelty  about  her  hysterical  fits, 
and  when  the  debts,  and  the  wants,  and  the  ill- 
temper  went  on  increasing,  then  Gideon  came 
to  the  point  of  wondering  whether  his  marriage 
was  a  happy  one  or  not.  Now  there  was  no 
doubt  about  the  matter ;  Emmy  had  avowed 


92  OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON. 

herself  unhappy,  and  he  was  sounding  the  depths 
of  a  misery  such  as  he  had  never  known  before. 

Throughout  it  all,  he  loved  her.  Even  when 
she  complained  and  grumbled  and  fretted,  his 
thoughts  were  tender  towards  her.  He  was  not 
the  man  to  give  love  once  and  take  it  back 
again.  Such  changes  of  mind  belong  to  men  of 
shallower  nature  than  Gideon  Blake's.  It  never 
seemed  really  possible  for  him  to  change. 

Nevertheless,  as  he  had  a  somewhat  violent 
and  sullen  temper,  and  was  not  accustomed  to 
self-control,  he  very  often  behaved  roughly  and 
harshly  towards  her,  and  alienated  her  volatile 
affections  from  him  by  a  manner  which  effec- 
tually masked  the  true  feeling  of  his  heart.  A 
less  frivolous  woman  might  have  understood  him 
better ;  but  Emmy  was  convinced  by  this  time 
that  he  did  not  care  for  her,  that  he  was  "a 
bear "  and  "  a  brute,"  and  she  seemed  to  de- 
light in  opposing  his  wishes  and  irritating  his 
temper.  lie  had  no  longer  any  illusions  on  the 
subject ;  he  believed  her  dislike  of  him  to  be 
even  more  deeply  rooted  than  it  was.  For  it 
would  have  been  hard  for  him  to  realize,  well 


OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON.  93 

as  lie  knew  her,  that  a  few  judiciously-chosen 
presents — a  silk  dress  or  two,  a  gold  chain,  a 
pretty  bracelet — would  have  restored  to  him  all 
the  love  of  which  her  heart  was  capable. 

In  the  quiet  of  his  lonely  rooms  he  almost 
wished  that  he  had  never  married.  He  remem- 
bered the  days  when  he  could  at  least  come  and 
go  at  will,  could  shut  himself  away  from  sting- 
ing speeches  and  undeserved  reproaches,  could 
brood  for  hours  over  his  own  thoughts  and  shape 
strange  figures  out  of  carven  wood  at  the  same 
time,  absorbed  partly  in  his  dreams  and  partly 
in  the  dear  delight  of  creation.  The  instinct  of 
the  anchorite,  the  solitary,  was  strong  in  him. 
Rather  than  be  tied  for  life  to  an  uncongenial 
mate,  he  said  to  himself  that  he  would  sooner 
always  be  alone. 

But  then,  there  was  the  child !  Compensation 
came  in  there.  If  he  were  alone  in  the  world, 
he  would  not  be  the  father  of  that  round-faced 
fair -haired  creature,  with  the  fearless  eyes  and 
stubborn  chin,  so  like  yet  so  unlike  his  own. 
That  fair,  round,  self-willed  little  lad  belonged 

to    him    in    heart   and   soul,    if   Emmy   did   not. 

7 


94  OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON. 

Gideon  worshipped  him,  without  measuring  the 
strength  of  his  love.  The  world  was  not  a  wil- 
derness while  Johnny  was  in  existence.  There 
was  always  somebody  to  look  for  Gideon's  com- 
ing— somebody  to  whom  the  sound  of  his  step 
brought  joy.  Marriage  was  not  entirely  a  fail- 
ure, since  it  had  put  baby  John  into  his  arms. 

Vaguely  comforted  at  last,  he  rose  up  to  go 
to  his  home.  After  all,  Uncle  Obed  and  John 
would  be  there.  Emmy  would  have  gone  to  her 
noisy,  disreputable  picnic,  and  would  not  be 
back  till  late  in  the  evening.  It  did  not  occur 
to  Gideon  that  he  might  have  gone  with  her. 
Such  companionship  of  husband  and  wife  was 
not  customary;  and  his  detestation  of  the  per- 
sons whom  she  called  friends  was  too  complete 
to  be  concealed.  lie  could  not  possibly  have 
gone  with  her,  and  simulated  ordinary  politeness. 

Silence  and  loneliness  had  restored  his  com- 
posure. As  he  walked  with  long  strides  across  the 
fields,  he  reflected  that  Emmy  would  be  out,  and 
that  he  and  John  and  Uncle  Obed  would  huvr 
tea  by  themselves.  lie  took  the  trouble  to  turn 
into  the  main  street  and  buy  some  "goodies "  for 


OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON.  95 

John.  They  would  sit  on  the  bench  in  the  garden 
after  tea,  and  John  should  not  go  to  bed  till 
ten.  In  this  unauthorized  way  he  would  find 
consolation  for  Emmy's  absence,  for  Emmy's  ill- 
temper,  for  Emmy's  want  of  love. 

But  when  he  neared  his  own  house,  he  was 
struck  by  something  unusual  in  its  appearance, 
some  sort  of  stir  and  excitement  on  the  river-bank. 
Two  or  three  persons  were  hanging  over  the  pal- 
ings, a  small  boat  was  moored  to  the  little  landing- 
stage  just  outside  the  garden,  the  front-door  stood 
wide  open,  and  there  were  strange  trails  of  water 
on  the  garden-path  and  the  stone  flags  at  the 
door.  And  surely  two  or  three  people  were  stand- 
ing in  the  passage.  Was  one  of  them  the  doctor  ? 
A  qualm  of  fear  passed  through  Gideon's  mind 
as  he  quickened  his  steps  in  drawing  near.  He 
hardly  knew  how  he  got  through  the  gate  or  ar- 
rived at  last  at  the  door,  where  his  strained  eyes 
and  paling  face  put  the  question  which  his  lips 
refused  to  ask. 

"  Don't  be  alarmed,  he  is  quite  safe,"  were  the 
first  words  he  heard.  Who  said  them  ?  He  knew 
the  sweet,  clear  voice,  but  there  was  a  mist  before 


96  OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON. 

his  eyes.  It  was  Frances  Lisle  who  laid  her  hand 
upon  his  arm. 

"  Your  little  boy  met  with  an  accident ;  he  fell 
into  the  water,  Mr.  Blake ;  but  he  was  pulled  out 
almost  immediately,  and  I  think  he  will  be  none 
the  worse  for  it." 

"  Where  is  he  ?  where  is  he  ? "  stammered  Gid- 
eon, with  wild  eyes. 

"  lie  is  in  bed,  and  his  mother  is  upstairs  with 
him,"  said  Frances  soothingly.  "  Here  is  the  doc- 
tor; you  can  ask  him  for  yourself." 

Why  was  she  here  ?  Even  at  that  moment  a 
flash  of  wonder  passed  through  Gideon's  brain. 
But  he  had  not  time  to  ask  the  question.  He 
would  have  made  an  immediate  rush  to  the  stairs, 
had  not  the  way  been  blocked  by  the  doctor — a 
burly  figure,  filling  up  the  width  of  the  little 
passage  and  putting  out  a  firm  white  hand  to  arrest 
the  young  man's  steps. 

"Come,  Gideon,  you  needn't  worry  yourself. 
The  little  lad's  in  bed  and  only  needs  to  be  kept 
quiet.  His  mother  is  with  him:  I've  told  her  to 
stay  until  he  is  asleep." 

"He'll    go    to    sleep    quicker    with    me    than 


OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON.  97 

with  her;  he  always  does,"  said  Gideon 
sharply. 

"  Nonsense !  You  are  not  to  go  up :  do  you 
hear  ? " 

"  He  is  hurt — and  you  won't  tell  me,  is  that 
it '{ "  asked  the  young  man,  in  a  tone  which,  though 
low,  was  so  fierce  that  Frances  involuntarily 
started. 

"  Nothing  of  the  kind,  don't  be  a  fool ! "  said 
the  doctor,  who  had  known  Gideon  all  his  life 
and  could  afford  to  be  peremptory  with  him ;  "  it 
is  only  that  the  child  has  had  a  ducking  and  I 
want  him  to  get  to  sleep  as  quickly  and  as  quietly 
as  possible,  otherwise  he  may  have  a  touch  of  fever. 
Now,  mind,  I  forbid  more  than  one  person  in  his 
room  for  the  present." 

"  Then  you  may  get  Emmy  away,"  said  Gideon 
doggedly;  "for  I  shall  sit  by  the  child." 

The  doctor  elevated  his  eyebrows  and  glanced 
at  Miss  Lisle,  as  if  to  call  her  to  his  assistance ; 
and  Frances,  thus  appealed  to,  threw  herself  into 
the  breach. 

"  I  want  very  much  to  tell  you  how  it  hap- 
pened, Mr.  Blake,"  she  said,  "if  you  can  spare 


98  OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON. 

me  a  minute  or  two  before  you  go  upstairs.  I 
saw  the  accident  myself,  and  it  was  a  friend  of 
mine — a  gentleman  who  is  visiting  us  just  now — 
who  took  him  out  of  the  water." 

"  Yes,  come  in  and  hear  all  about  it,"  said 
the  doctor  genially,  pushing  Gideon  before  him 
towards  the  door  of  the  little  parlour.  "  What 
are  you  thinking  of,  Gideon,  not  to  ask  Miss  Lisle 
to  sit  down  ?  The  gentleman — Captain  Hamil- 
ton, is  it  not  ? — is  upstairs,  changing  his  clothes 
fur  some  of  yours,  I  believe.  Obed  is  looking 
after  him." 

In  some  confusion,  Gideon  pushed  open  the 
door  of  the  sitting-room,  and  Frances  entered  it, 
not  without  curiosity  to  see  what  the  sitting-room 
of  this  strange,  dark-eyed  young  man  and  his 
pretty  wife  was  like.  She  was  disappointed  if  she 
expected  to  find  any  trace  of  superior  tastes  or 
aspirations.  The  green  damask  and  the  flowery 
carpet  were  horrible  in  her  eyes ;  the  gilt  looking- 
glass  and  the  oleographs  were  abominations.  And 
worse  than  all  was  the  appearance  of  the  girl, 
who  rose  in  some  embarrassment  from  the  couch 
when  Frances  entered ;  for  she  was  even  more 


OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON.  99 

vulgar-looking  than  the  room,  and  yet  she  was 
introduced  by  the  doctor  as  "  my  friend  Gideon's 
sister,  Miss  Carry  Blake." 

Frances,  whose  tastes,  although  simple,  were 
extremely  refined,  was  for  a  moment  revolted  by 
the  aspect  of  the  room  and  of  the  girl ;  then  her 
kindlier  instincts  came  into  play.  It  was  not, 
perhaps,  Gideon's  fault,  it  was  the  fault  of  his 
friends,  of  his  wife,  probably,  that  the  room  was 
hideous.  And  she  could  not  help  liking  him  for 
the  anxiety  which  he  displayed  about  his  boy. 
She  gave  her  little  account  of  the  disaster,  look- 
ing straight  at  him  so  as  to  avoid  the  sight  of 
the  antimacassars  and  oleographs,  and  of  Carry, 
with  her  earrings  and  her  feathers,  on  the 
sofa. 

"  I  was  on  the  river  in  a  small  boat  with  my 
brother  and  Captain  Hamilton,"  she  said.  "We 
were  quite  at  the  side,  among  some  rushes,  when 
we  saw  a  big  boat — a  sort  of  barge — coming 
up " 

"  Mortlock's  barge,"  said  the  doctor,  with  a  nod. 

Gideon  set  his  teeth. 

"  "We  waited,  so  as  to  be  out  of  the  way  of  the 


100  OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON. 

wash  while  they  went  by,"  continued  Frances. 
"  Everyone  seemed  to  be  very  merry  on  board,  and 
just  when  they  passed  us,  I  noticed  a  little  boy 
clambering  about — I  think  he  was  trying  to  see  how 
far  he  could  lean  over  the  side.  I  called  out — for 
nobody  seemed  to  be  looking  after  him — and  at 
that  moment  he  overbalanced  himself  and  fell  into 
the  water." 

"  I'm  sure,"  said  Miss  Carry  volubly  from  the 
sofa,  "  we  had  only  turned  our  heads  away  just  for 
a  minute  ;  we  had  been  looking  after  him  as  care- 
fully as  possible,  Gideon,  both  Emmy  and  me,  and 
if  we  had  told  him  once  to  come  away  from  the 
side,  we  had  told  him  a  dozen  times ;  but  Jacky 
was  always  a  naughty  boy- 
She  was  suddenly  met  by  such  a  black  look  from 
Gideon  that  she  was  awed  into  silence. 

"  Who  took  him  out  of  the  water  ? "  said  her 
brother,  in  a  half -stifled  voice. 

Miss  Lisle  was  observed  to  colour  as  she  re- 
plied : 

"  Captain  Hamilton  jumped  into  the  water  di- 
rectly, and  my  brother  rowed  to  the  place  and  took 
him  into  the  boat.  Then  we  found  out  to  whom  he 


OUT  OF  DUB  SEASON.  1Q1 

belonged,  and  brought  him  home,  and  Mrs.  Blake 
and  some  of  her  friends  came  back  too." 

"  Your  uncle  was  here,"  said  Dr.  Miller,  in  his 
hearty  voice,  "  and  he  knew  exactly  what  to  do — 
had  the  boy  in  a  hot  bath  in  no  time,  and  in  bed 
with  hot  blankets.  There  was  scarcely  any  need 
for  me,  but  Mr.  Gerald  Lisle  was  so  kind  as  to  fetch 
me,  and  I'm  glad,  Gideon,  that  I  can't  be  of  any 
use — ha,  ha ! " 

The  doctor's  genial  laugh  dispelled  the  gloom 
which  seemed  to  have  settled  on  the  party.  Gideon 
said  something  about  his  gratitude  to  Captain  Ham- 
ilton, and  asked  if  he  should  go  upstairs  and  see 
that  his  guest  had  all  he  required  But  footsteps 
were  at  that  moment  heard  on  the  stairs,  and  Obed 
Pilcher  appeared,  ushering  Captain  Hamilton  into 
the  room. 

Gideon  was  usually  slow  of  speech,  but  grati- 
tude was  warm  at  his  heart  just  then,  and  made  it 
easy  for  him  to  utter  a  few  words  of  thanks.  Miss 
Lisle's  friend  received  them  with  offhand  good- 
humour,  as  if  he  were  in  the  habit  of  saving  lives 
every  day  and  thought  nothing  of  the  occurrence. 
He  had  found  a  suit  of  Gideon's  flannels  to  fit 


102  OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON. 

him  tolerably  well,  for  he  was  a  tall  man,  though  of 
slighter  build  than  Blake's.  His  age -was  thirty- 
five,  but  he  looked  at  least  five  years  older ;  the 
crow's  feet  were  thick  round  his  eyes,  and  his  hair 
was  growing  a  little  thin  at  the  temples.  He  had  a 
long  nose,  and  a  fair  moustache ;  in  fact,  he  was 
not  unlike  the  conventional  hero  of  the  novels  in 
which  Emmy  Blake  loved  to  revel ;  and  Carry,  who 
had  adopted  many  of  her  sister-in-law's  tastes,  eyed 
him  with  open  admiration. 

Young  Gerald  Lisle  had,  it  seemed,  gone  for  the 
carriage,  which  had  been  put  up  in  Casterby  while 
he  and  his  sister  took  Captain  Hamilton  for  a  row 
on  the  river,  and  Frances  was  to  wait  until  it  came 
for  her.  There  was  a  minute  or  two  of  awkward- 
ness :  Gideon  had  nothing  to  say  for  himself,  and 
Carry,  although  not  particularly  shy,  was  too  busily 
engaged  in  studying  Miss  Lisle's  dress  to  have  any 
time  for  conversation. 

She  decided  in  her  own  mind  that  Miss  Lisle 
was  very  badly  dressed.  Everyone  knew  that  she 
had  money,  and  persons  with  money  ought  to  dress 
according  to  their  position.  She  did  not  know  ex- 
actly how  she  would  have  liked  Miss  Lisle  to  dress, 


OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON.  1Q3 

but  she  was  quite  sure  that  simple  brown  holland 
was  inappropriate,  and  so  were  the  brown  straw  hat 
and  brown  ribbons  and  gauntleted  yellow  gloves. 
To  say  that  this  costume  was  excellently  adapted 
for  boating  would  not  have  satisfied  Carry's  mind  at 
all.  Nor  did  it  occur  to  her  that  Miss  Lisle  was  go- 
ing home  to  dress  for  dinner.  In  Carry  Blake's 
station  people  dressed  for  tea.  She  supposed  that 
Miss  Lisle  would  wear  that  brown  holland  all  the 
evening,  and  in  her  eyes  this  was  almost  worse  than 
a  crime.  She  concluded  in  her  own  mind,  with  a 
contemptuous  sniff,  that  Miss  Lisle  dressed  in  that 
funny  way  because  she  was  a  Roman  Catholic, 
though  the  connection  between  brown  holland  and 
a  religious  faith  might  not  be  apparent  at  first 
sight. 

While  the  awkward  pause  still  lasted,  there 
came  a  rush  as  of  flying  skirts  along  the  passage ; 
the  door  was  opened  hastily,  and  Mrs.  Blake  ap- 
peared. 

"He's  asleep,  doctor — fast  asleep,"  she  said 
breathlessly,  "  and  Kezia's  sitting  with  him ;  but  I 
felt  I  must  come  down  just  to  say  my  thanks  to  the 
gentleman  who  rescued  my  child — my  darling  little 


OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON. 

Jacky!  Oh,  what  should  I  have  done  if  he  had 
been  drowned ! " 

She  had  never  looked  prettier.  The  excitement 
of  the  afternoon  had  only  brought  a  rose-flush  to 
her  cheeks ;  her  eyes  swam  with  tears,  but  the  eye- 
lids were  not  reddened,  and  her  rosy  lips  were 
parted  in  the  most  appealing  of  curves.  Her 
golden  hair  stood  up  in  natural  waves  and  curls  like 
an  aureole  round  her  fair  brow,  and  with  her  slen- 
der hands  outstretched,  and  her  graceful  form  bent 
slightly  forward  hi  her  impulsive  burst  of  gratitude, 
she  looked  like  a  very  incarnation  of  youth  and 
loveliness.  She  was  dressed  in  white  muslin,  which 
looked  none  the  worse  for  the  limpness  caused  by 
contact  with  John's  wet  clothing.  Captain  Ham- 
ilton gazed  at  her  with  a  dawning  admiration  which 
seemed  mixed  with  amaze.  He  had,  of  course,  seen 
the  child's  mother  previously,  but,  preoccupied  by 
the  condition  of  his  soused  garments,  he  had  not 
realized  the  fact  of  her  beauty. 

"  I  am  very  glad  I  was  able  to  be  of  some  little 
assistance,"  he  said,  becoming  amiable  all  at  once. 
He  had  just  been  remarking  to  himself  that  the 
whole  thing  was  an  infernal  bore.  It  had  not  even 


OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON.  1Q5 

the  merit  of  recommending  him  in  the  eyes  of  any- 
body of  importance ;  Frances's  heart  was  won  al- 
ready, and  there  was  no  need  to  attitudinize  for  her 
benefit.  But  it  occurred  to  him  now  that  it  was 
rather  pleasant  to  hear  this  pretty  provincial  little 
woman  expressing  her  gratitude,  and  that  she 
looked  as  if  one  might  get  some  amusement  out 
of  her.  In  this  dull  place,  Captain  Hamilton  told 
himself,  even  a  carpenter's  wife  might  be  amusing. 

"  He  is  quite  right  now,  quite  safe,  isn't  he,  Dr. 
Miller  ?  Oh,  it  was  so  good  of  you  to  jump  into 
the  water  and  save  him,  wasn't  it,  Miss  Lisle  ?  Oh, 
aren't  you  quite  proud  of  him  ? " 

Gideon  felt,  with  a  sudden  twinge,  that  Emmy 
had  said  just  the  wrong  thing.  Why  should  Frances 
Lisle  be  proud  of  Captain  Hamilton  ?  He  saw  a 
deepening  pink  flush  upon  that  cameo-like,  pure 
face ;  he  saw  her  eyes  cast  down  in  momentary  con- 
fusion, and  he  irritably  wished  to  himself  that 
Emmy's  tongue  would  not  run  so  fast.  She  was 
quite  happy,  quite  contented  with  what  she  had 
said ;  evidently  she  thought  she  had  said  just  the 
proper  thing,  but  neither  Miss  Lisle  nor  Captain 
Hamilton  looked  quite  pleased  with  the  remark. 


106  OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON. 

Frances  turned  instinctively  to  Gideon,  while 
Emmy  pursued  her  conversation  with  the  Captain 
and  the  doctor.  The  disturbed  expression  passed  at 
once  from  her  face  as  she  spoke  to  him. 

"  What  a  dear  little  boy  he  is !  "  she  said. 

The  father's  eye  gleamed. 

"  Yes,  he's  a  fine  little  chap,"  he  answered,  sim- 
ply enough,  but  with  evident  satisfaction. 

"  And  his  name  is  John  ? " 

"  John  Gideon — the  name,"  said  Gideon  shyly, 
"  of  the  man  in  the  book." 

"  The  man  in  the  book  ? "  Frances  was  mysti- 
fied for  a  moment,  then  she  remembered,  and  spoke 
eagerly  :  "  Of  course  I  know.  I  am  glad  you  called 
the  little  boy  after  liim." 

"  Xobody  knows,"  said  Gideon,  lowering  his 
voice,  and  casting  an  involuntary  glance  of  guilt 
towards  Emmy.  Frances  laughed  a  little  at  the 
glance,  but  her  heart  warmed  to  the  man.  It  struck 
her  that  he  must  be  lonely,  in  spite  of  his  environ- 
ment of  friends  and  family. 

"  I  have  never  forgotten  him,"  she  said  with  an 
instinct  of  sympathy.  "We  all  remember  him 
every  Sunday,  and  on  All  Souls'  Day." 


OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON.  107 

"  It  is  rather  a  good  thing,  that,"  said  Gideon 
seriously.  "  I  think  he  wanted  to  be  remembered, 
poor  old  chap  !  " 

Remembrance  was  a  different  thing  in  his  eyes 
from  what  it  was  in  hers.  But  they  came  no  nearer 
to  a  mutual  understanding,  because  at  that  moment 
Miss  Lisle' s  carriage  was  announced,  and  the  visitors 
rose  to  take  leave. 

"  I  can't  express  all  I  feel,"  Emmy  was  saying, 
"and  my  husband  can't,  either;  but  I  hope  you 
will  not  be  offended  with  us  if  we  say  so  little." 

Captain  Hamilton  thought  she  had  said  a  good 
deal,  but  he  smiled  and  took  instant  advantage  of 
Mrs.  Blake's  apology. 

"  I  shall  be  amply  repaid  if  you  will  allow  me  to 
come  and  inquire  after  him  some  day.  I  love  chil- 
dren, and  I  (should  like  to  make  acquaintance  with 
your  fine  little  boy." 

"  Oh,  certainly ;  come  whenever  you  like,"  cried 
Emmy  in  high  delight.  "  We  shall  be  always 
pleased  to  see  you — always,  I'm  sure." 

He  bowed  over  her  hand  with  an  exaggeration 
of  courtesy  which  struck  Frances  as  mocking  and 
unkind. 


108  OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON. 

"  How  could  you  make  fun  of  Mrs.  Blake ! "  she 
said  to  him  afterwards,  with  a  little  reproach  in 
her  tone. 

u  You  have  such  sharp  eyes,"  he  answered  laugh- 
ingly ;  "  a  little  too  sharp,  sometimes,  don't  you 
think  \  Mrs.  Blake  liked  it ;  she  thought  it  a  hom- 
age to  her  beauty.  What  a  pretty  woman  she  is ! " 

"  Is  she  not  lovely ! "  said  Frances,  with  so 
much  heartfelt  warmth  that  Captain  Hamilton  was 
a  trifle  disappointed.  He  would  have  thought  it 
more  natural  for  Frances,  who  was  comparatively 
plain,  to  depreciate  Mrs.  Blake's  good  looks;  and 
he  said  to  himself  impatiently  that  she  was  far  too 
angelic  for  this  wicked  world,  and  that  angelic 
women  were  a  bore. 

Poor  Frances  felt  herself  far  from  angelic,  being 
not  free  from  miserable  doubts  of  George  Hamil- 
ton's sincerity,  and  disposed  to  accuse  him  of  pay- 
ing too  much  attention  to  every  woman  he  came 
across.  Even  these  ghosts  of  suspicion  gave  her 
an  agony  of  pain  and  self-reproach.  It  seemed  to 
her  that  she  must  herself  be  evil-minded  and  low- 
thoughted  if  she  could  even  conceive  the  possibility 
of  his  doing  wrong.  Ordinarily  she  was  a  fairly 


OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON.  109 

shrewd  and  quick-witted  little  person,  but  her  love 
for  this  man,  George  Hamilton,  had  strangely 
blinded  her  eyes.  He  had  come,  as  she  knew,  to 
woo  and  win  her ;  there  had  never  been  any  doubt 
about  that.  The  match  had  been  "  arranged,"  be- 
cause she  had  money  and  he  had  debts  (though  this 
she  did  not  know),  and  an  old  name  to  support,  and 
she  had  agreed  to  the  proposal  with  all  her  heart,  in 
her  own  rather  sober  and  serious  way.  Hamilton 
was  of  an  order  that  she  knew,  and  yet  there  was 
something  novel  and  entrancing  about  him.  To 
her  mind,  it  was  wonderful  that  he  should  want  to 
marry  her.  She  was  very  happy  on  the  whole,  but 
she  was  not  always  at  rest. 

When  the  carriage  drove  away  from  the  little 
house  by  the  river,  Gideon  stood  gravely  at  the 
door,  and  Emmy,  beside  him,  sent  nods  and  smiles 
after  the  departing  guests.  Carry  Blake  hovered  in 
the  background,  rather  curious  as  to  the  way  in 
which  her  stepbrother  was  taking  the  occurrence ; 
and  faithful  Uncle  Obed  had  stolen  upstairs  to  the 
sleeping  child. 

"  What  witt  Gideon  say  ? "  Carry  was  asking 
herself,  conscious  of  equal  guilt  with  Emmy  in  hav- 


110  OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON. 

ing  taken  the  boy  on  the  river  against  his  father's 
will. 

But  Gideon  had  no  time  to  say  anything. 

As  soon  as  the  carriage  was  out  of  sight,  Emmy 
turned,  glanced  at  his  face,  then,  with  a  cry  that 
was  half  a  sob,  half  a  laugh,  threw  herself  into  his 
arms. 

"  Oh,  Gideon !  I  was  very  naughty  and  disagree- 
able to  you,  but  I'm  really  very  sorry  now — I  am 
indeed.  And  our  poor  little  Jacky !  he  might  have 
been  drowned.  Oh,  it  was  dreadful ! " 

She  hid  her  face  on  his  shoulder  and  burst  into 
tears,  genuine  enough,  although  caused  partly  by 
excitement,  agitation,  and  a  little  fear.  Gideon  put 
up  his  hand  and  stroked  her  hair.  He  had  no 
words,  except  a  murmur  of  affection  and  solicitude. 
He  was  only  too  thankful  that  Emmy  was  appar- 
ently repentant  of  her  escapade. 

"  Oh,  I  suffered  fearfully ! "  said  Mrs.  Blake,  at 
last  drying  her  eyes.  "  To  see  the  darling  sink  in 
the  water — my  nerves  got  such  a  shock  that  I  don't 
think  I  shall  get  over  it  for  a  month !  I  screamed, 
did  I  not,  Carry  ? " — in  a  tone  of  conscious  merit. 
"  I  screamed  at  the  top  of  my  voice." 


OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON. 

"  Yes,  YOU  did  ;  and  so  did  I,*'  said  Carry  tri- 
umphantly. '*  And  that  was  what  made  Captain 
Hamilton  look  round.  If  he  hadn't  been  there,  I 
am  sure  Jacky  would  have  been  drowned." 

It  was  Gideon  who  frowned  and  flinched  at  the 
word.  Emmy  was  too  deeply  interested  in  the  de- 
tails of  the  event  that  had  really  occurred  to  be 
impressed  by  a  figment  of  the  imagination.  She 
did  not  see,  as  Gideon  saw,  in  his  mind's  eye,  a 
picture  of  little  John  lying  cold  and  dripping  in 
someone's  arms,  carried  back  dead  to  the  cottage, 
where  he  had  made  the  brightness  of  his  father's 
life.  The  ghastliness  of  it  turned  Gideon  absolutely 
sick.  But  Carry  and  Emmy  prattled  on  undis- 
turbed. 

"  Did  no  one  on  board  try  to  save  him  ? "  he  in- 
quired grimly. 

Enimy  looked  at  her  sister-in-law.  It  was  Carry 
who  replied. 

"  Xot  a  single  one.  Mr.  Chiltern  went  quite 
white  and  green,  and  said  that  he  couldn't  swim. 
And  nobody  else  said  anything.  Oh !  Johnny 
would  have  been  drowned,  that's  certain,  if  Cap- 
tain Hamilton  had  not  been  there." 


112  OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON. 

"  You  see  what  a  fine  set  of  fellows  your  friends 
are,"  said  Gideon,  a  little  grimly. 

Emmy  tossed  her  head. 

"  They  are  as  good  as  other  people,  I  suppose. 
I  never  heard  that  you  could  swim  yourself,"  she 
said. 

"  Should  you  have  gone  in  after  him  if  you  had 
been  there,  Gid  ? "  said  Carry,  her.  eyes  gleaming. 
"  I  suppose  you  would  ;  but,  you  see,  the  fellows  on 
the  boat  weren't  his  father,  so " 

"  Do  let  us  hear  no  more  about  it,"  said  Gideon, 
with  sudden  irritation.  "  Tell  Keziah  to  get  the 
tea,  for  goodness'  sake ;  and  be  thankful  that  the 
boy  is  alive." 

"  You  needn't  speak  so  cross,"  said  Emmy ;  but 
she  felt  the  need  of  some  pacification,  and  went  into 
the  kitchen  to  hasten  preparations  for  the  evening 
meal.  Gideon  leaned  against  the  window  and 
looked  but  into  the  garden ;  while  Carry,  perched 
on  the  music-stool,  swung  her  feet  and  regarded 
him  inquisitively.  She  did  not  understand  her 
step- brother  at  all. 

"Who  is  Captain  Hamilton?"  he  asked  pres- 
ently. 


OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON.  113 

"  Oh !  don't  you  know  ?  He  is  to  marry  that 
Miss  Frances  Lisle  who  was  here  to-day.  It's  all 
for  her  money — everybody  says  so;  because  she's 
quite  plain,  and  he's  such  a  splendid -looking  gentle- 
man." 

"  Miss  Lisle  plain  ? "  said  Gideon,  in  a  puzzled 
voice. 

"  Why,  of  course  she  is  plain,  Gideon !  Don't 
you  know  a  plain  person  from  a  pretty  one  ?  Well, 
I  must  say  that  I  think  Emmy  is  thrown  away  on 
you !  Look  here,  Emmy,  he  thinks  Miss  Lisle 
pretty — Miss  Lisle  !  " 

"  I  never  said  so,"  Gideon  averred,  in  the  old 
irritated  voice.  "  I  don't  know  whether  she  is 
pretty  or  plain.  She  has  what  people  call — a  nice 
face,  I  believe." 

Emmy  laughed  derisively. 

"  Gideon  has  no  taste,"  she  said.  "  Do  you 
know,  he  can't  bear  that  pink  and  blue  dress  of 
mine  that  I  got  at  Hull !  They  told  me  it  was  an 
exact  copy  of  a  French  costume,  and  yet  he  doesn't 
care  for  it.  I  never  think  anything  of  Gideon's 
taste  now." 

"Why  has  this  Miss  Lisle  got  money,  if  her 


114  OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON. 

sisters  have  not  ? "  said  Gideon,  disregarding  these 
accusations.  "  You  know  everything,  Carry :  tell 
me  that." 

The  slight  satire  was  quite  lost  upon  Carry. 

"  Everybody  knows,"  she  said,  "  except  you ; 
and  I  sometimes  think  you  are  blind  and  deaf, 
Gideon.  It  was  her  old  aunt  and  godmother  who 
left  her  a  fortune.  It  all  came  into  her  hands  when 
she  was  twenty-one,  and  she  is  quite  independent. 
She  is  twenty-three  now.  Some  people  expected 
her  to  give  her  money  to  the  Church,  or  set  up  a 
hospital  or  something  ;  but  she  wasn't  quite  so  silly 
as  that.  She's  going  to  marry  Captain  Hamilton, 
and,  as  he's  over  head  and  ears  in  debt,  he  will  be 
glad  of  the  money." 

"  She's  a  lucky  girl,"  said  Emmy  wistfully. 

Gideon  turned  to  her  with  a  sharp  gesture  of 
dissent. 

"  The  luck's  on  his  side,"  he  said. 

The  girls  laughed  scornfully  to  each  other ;  they 
almost  thought  that  Gideon  was  a  little  mad  at 
times. 

Later  in  the  evening,  when  Carry  had  gone 
home  and  he  was  in  the  garden  smoking  a  pipe, 


OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON.  115 

Emmy  stole  out  to  him  in  a  gentler  mood,  and 
twined  her  hand  in  his  arm. 

"  I  won't  go  on  the  barge  again,  Gideon,"  she 
said  softly. 

"  That's  right." 

"  I  shall  always  hate  it  now.  Think  what  it 
would  have  been  for  me  if  Jacky  had  been  drowned  ? 
It  would  have  been  terrible.  And  I  could  not  help 
thinking  when  I  saw  him  fall,  '  What  wTill  Gideon 
say  ? '  Gideon,"  pressing  a  little  closer  to  him, 
"  what  should  we  have  done  ? " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Gideon  brokenly ;  "  don't 
talk  of  it,  Emmy." 

"  I  believe  you  would  never  have  forgiven  me," 
she  said,  with  a  petulant  little  laugh,  in  which  there 
was  the  echo  of  a  sob. 

"  I  don't  suppose  I  ever  should,"  said  Gideon. 

He  could  not  understand  why  she  wrenched  her 
hand  out  of  his  arm  and  ran  back  to  the  house 
without  another  word.  He  watched  her  slim  white 
figure  in  the  moonlight,  and  wondered  a  little  at 
women's  vagaries.  He  did  not  know  that  he  had 
brought  tears  of  real  pain  and  passion  to  Emmy's 
eyes. 


116  OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON. 

"  He  does  not  care  one  bit  about  me,"  she  said 
to  herself,  as  she  began  to  undress  herself  in  the 
semi-darkness  of  her  room,  where  John  lay  asleep 
in  his  crib.  "  He  cares  only  for  the  child." 

She  was  wrong ;  Gideon  loved  her  too,  but  per- 
haps at  that  moment  the  love  of  his  child  came  first. 


V. 

"  Lore  seeketh  but  itself  to  please." 

"  I  ALWAYS  said  so,"  remarked  Mrs.  Blake, 
senior,  in  her  most  tragic  tones.  "  I  always  told 
you  that  Enderbys  was  a  poor  lot,  Gideon  ;  but  you 
were  so  set  on  marrying  Emmy  Enderby,  that  there 
was  no  holding  you  back,  and  now — 

She  paused  significantly,  and  her  silence  said 
more  than  words.  Any  other  woman  would  per- 
haps have  shrunk  from  exciting  the  wrath  that  was 
plainly  to  be  seen  in  Gideon's  dark  face,  but  Mrs. 
Blake  was  not  wanting  in  courage.  And  she  had 
that  curious  insensibility  to  the  pain  of  others  which 
comes  from  absolute  want  of  sympathy. 

She  was  sitting  in  the  parlour  of  Riverside  Cot- 
tage on  an  August  evening.  Bolt  upright  on  a 
high  chair,  her  ample  silk  skirts  spread  out  carefully 
on  each  side  of  her,  she  looked  a  worthy  occupant 
of  the  bourgeois  little  room,  where  the  green  "  rep  " 

117 


118  OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON. 

was  growing  soiled  and  frayed,  and  the  lilies  and 
roses  of  the  carpet  were  beginning  to  merge  their 
violent  contrasts  of  colour  in  a  decent  obscurity. 
Mrs.  Blake  had  "  come  to  call,"  and  she  had  come 
on  a  Saturday  evening,  when  she  had  expected,  she 
said  somewhat  viciously,  "  to  find  Mrs.  Gideon  at 
home/' 

Obed  was  in  the  garden,  performing  his 
favourite  function  of  nurse  and  caretaker  to  little 
John,  and  Emmy  was  out.  It  was  this  fact  that 
had  put  Mrs.  Blake  out  of  temper.  She  was 
impelled  to  vent  her  anger  in  spiteful  words  against 
the  girl,  although  she  knew  that  Gideon  was  not 
likely  to  be  a  very  patient  listener.  He  stood  in 
what  was  a  favourite  attitude  with  him :  leaning 
against  the  window-frame,  looking  out  into  the 
garden.  It  was  a  careless,  lounging  pose,  but  as 
Mrs.  Blake  spoke  she  might  have  noticed  that  he 
gradually  gathered  himself  up  a  little,  and  that  the 
hand  which  had  been  hanging  loosely  at  his  side 
clenched  itself.  Signs  of  danger  there,  if  Mrs. 
Blake  had  only  understood. 

"  Well  ? "  said  Gideon,  as  she  paused.     "  And 
now — what  then  ? " 


OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON.  H9 

"  You  may  well  say  '  What  then  ? '  "  said  Mrs. 
Blake,  pursing  up  her  lips.  "Indeed,  I  don't 
know  what  is  to  become  of  you  all ;  and  my  heart 
aches  when  I  look  at  that  poor  child  of  yours  and 
think  how  he  is  to  be  brought  up  with  such  parents. 
I  hear  that  you  never  send  him  to  Sunday-school, 
and  that  lie  does  not  come  to  church.  I  don't 
know  how  you  expect  him  to  grow  up  respect- 
able." 

"  lie's  too  young  for  church,"  said  Gideon 
shortly.  "  lie  generally  goes  for  a  walk  with  me 
on  Sundays.  Emmy  goes  to  church ;  Emmy  and 
Uncle  Obed  do  the  religion  of  the  family." 

"  Ah  Emmy — Emmy  !  "  said  Mrs.  Blake,  with  a 
portentous  sigh.  "Not  much  religion  about  her, 
I'm  afraid.  Perhaps  it  would  be  better  if  she  had 
a  little  more." 

"  Look  here,"  said  Gideon  suddenly,  and  with 
violence,  "what  do  you  mean  by  talking  about 
Emmy  in  that  tone  ?  If  you've  anything  to  say, 
say  it  and  be  done  with  it.  You  seem  rather  to 
forget  that  Emmy's  my  wife." 

"Ah,  poor  thing!  yes.  I'm  sorry  for  you, 
Gideon.  I  should  have  wished  you  a  good  wife,  I 


120  OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON. 

should  indeed :  for  the  unbelieving  husband  may  be 
sanctified  by  the  believing  wife " 

"  Are  you  insinuating  that  Emmy  is  not  a  good 
wife  ?  "  said  Gideon  sternly. 

"  Insinuating  ?  What  a  long  word !  "  said  Mrs. 
Blake,  with  acidulated  playfulness.  "  No,  I  am  not 
insinuating  anything,  or,  at  least,  not  more  than 
everyone  is  saying,  and  I  am  not  responsible,  I 
hope,  for  what  other  people  say." 

"What  do  they  say?" 

He  left  the  window -frame  and  looked  at  her, 
his  face  paling  beneath  its  summer  tan,  his  breath 
coming  faster  than  usual.  Mrs.  Blake  was  proud 
of  having  made  such  an  impression.  Her  big 
teeth  gleamed  and  gave  her  a  hungry  look  as  she 
replied : 

"They  talk,  Gideon — of  course  they  talk. 
When  a  young  wife  neglects  her  home  and  her 
husband — 

"  It  will  l>e  time  enough  to  talk  of  her  neglect- 
ing me  when  /  complain." 

"Of  course.  And  it  is  very  forbearing  of 
you  not  to  complain  more  than  you  do.  I'm 
sure  I  never  gave  you  credit,  Gideon,  for  such 


OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON.  121 

patience.       But    I    believe    you    were    fond    of 
Emmy— 

"  Were  !  " 

The  exclamation  was  so  indignant,  the  tone  so 
full  of  scorn  and  anger,  that  even  Mrs.  Blake  felt 
a  little  thrill  of  alarm. 

"  Well,  you  are  fond  of  her,  then,  if  you  like 
that  better.  There  is  such  a  thing  as  being  weak 
and  blind  in  one's  fondness,  but  I  don't  wish  to 
'  insinuate  '  anything,  as  you  call  it.  I'm  not  one 
to  make  mischief.  Ever  since  I  was  a  girl  I've 
taken  for  my  motto  the  text '  Blessed  are  the  peace- 
makers.' " 

"  You  make  peace  in  a  damned  extraordinary 
way,"  said  Gideon,  naming  into  sudden  rage.  "  I'd 
as  soon  be  without  it,  for  my  part." 

"  Oh,  if  you  mean  to  swear  at  me,  Gideon," 
said  Mrs.  Blake,  drawing  herself  up  with  dignity, 
"  I  can  only  say  that  I  shall  never  set  foot  in  your 
house  again.  I  am  not  accustomed  to  be  sworn 
at.  It's  a  thing  your  father  never  did,  and  where 
you  learned  it  I  am  sure  I  cannot  tell ;  and  my 
own  father  was  a  most  respectable  man,  and 
wouldn't  have  sullied  his  lips  with  a  bad  word, 


122  OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON. 

more  especially  to  a  lady  and  one  that  had  come  to 
call  and  was  anxious  for  his  soul's  good.  Which 
is  what  I  have  always  been,  although  from  the 
very  first  moment  that  I  entered  your  father's 
house  you  took  a  grudge  against  me — and  showed 
it,  But  I  hope  I  am  a  Christian  woman,  and 
always  ready  to  do  you  a  good  turn  when  it  comes 
in  my  way." 

This  long  speech  gave  Gideon  time  in  which 
to  recover  himself.  He  fell  back  against  the  win- 
dow-frame and  folded  his  arms.  His  face  was  in 
shadow,  but  his  voice  had  grown  calm  again  when 
he  made  answer: 

"  I  beg  your  pardon.  I  did  not  mean  to  hurt 
your  feelings,  I  am  sure.  But  you  must  see" — 
with  a  little  gathering  vehemence — "that  a  man 
doesn't  like  to  be  told  that  his  wifo  neglects  him 
or  anything  of  that  kind.  It's  not  likely." 

"  No,  indeed,  it's  not  likely  that  one  always 
cares  to  hear  the  truth,"  said  Mrs.  Blake  sharply ; 
"  but  it  may  be  your  friends'  duty  to  let  you  know 
it,  for  all  that.  In  plain  words,  Gideon,  your 
wife  gads  about  too  much,  and  I  should  advise 
you  to  look  after  her." 


OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON.  133 

"Is  that  what  you  came  to  say?"  asked  Gid- 
eon, who  was  at  a  white  heat. 

"  Well,  I  came  to  say  a  word  to  Emmy,  and 
that's  the  truth.  I  should  have  said  a  deal  more 
to  her  than  I've  said  to  you,  Gideon.  But  as 
Emmy's  as  usual  out  and  about,  flaunting  all  over 
the  town — 

"  Take  care  what  you  say,"  cried  the  young 
man  fiercely. 

"  Really,  Gideon,"  said  Mrs.  Blake,  shaking  out 
her  silk  skirts  as  she  rose  to  go,  "  I  don't  see 
that  I've  said  anything  that  calls  for  that  tone  of 
voice.  I  don't  approve  of  so  much  gadding  about, 
of  course ;  but  I  have  not  said,  as  I  might  have 
said,  that  when  it  comes  to  strolls  by  the  river 
with  that  Captain  Hamilton  up  at  the  Park — 

She  ceased  suddenly :  Gideon's  hand  was  on 
her  arm,  his  dark  eyes  were  flashing  fire.  His 
voice  was  so  husky  that  she  could  hardly  recognise 
it  as  that  of  her  step-son. 

"  Dare  to  say  anything  against  my  wife,"  he 
said  in  a  choking  whisper,  "  dare  to  breathe  a  word 
against  her,  and  I'll — I'll  murder  you ! " 

His  voice  and  face  were  so  frightful  to  Mrs. 


124  OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON. 

Blake  that  she  uttered  a  faint,  terrified  shriek,  and 
sped  trembling  to  the  door.  He  let  her  go,  bnt 
before  she  had  left  the  room  she  heard  him  say  in 
a  stronger,  steadier  voice: 

"  Never  enter  this  house  again." 

"  Indeed  I  won't,"  said  Mrs.  Blake,  unwilling 
to  depart  without  at  least  one  Parthian  shot,  "  and 
for  why — because  no  respectable  person  in  Cas- 
terby  will  care  to  enter  it,  either,  when  your  wife 
has  lost  her  character." 

She  shut  the  door  after  her  as  she  said  the 
last  words,  and  perhaps  it  was  as  well,  for  Gideon 
threw  himself  forward  as  if  to  hasten  her  departure 
by  forcible  means.  The  closed  door,  however, 
restrained  him.  He  stood  before  it  silent  and 
motionless  for  a  moment,  then,  with  an  impatient 
gesture,  he  turned  back  to  the  window  and  leaned 
once  more  against  the  frame. 

At  first  his  face  and  bearing  expressed  nothing 
but  wrath  ;  his  eyes  gleamed  under  the  dark  brows, 
and  his  hands  clenched  themselves;  he  muttered 
angry  words  to  himself  against  gossiping  women 
and  scandalous  tongues.  When  he  grew  calmer, 
an  expression  of  anxious  doubt  crept  into  his  eyes; 


OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON.  135 

his  face  grew  intensely  gloomy,  as  if  his  mind 
were  visited  with  dismal  forebodings.  Then  a  fit 
of  restlessness  came  upon  him :  he  walked  up  and 
down  the  room,  looked  at  his  watch,  went  up- 
stairs and  down  again  ;  finally  walked  out  into  the 
garden,  and  approached  the  wooden  bench  where 
Obed  Pilcher  sat,  peacefully  smoking  a  long  clay 
pipe.  Beside  him  John  was  busy  digging  with  a 
small  spade  in  one  of  the  garden-beds. 

Gideon   halted    irresolutely    near  the  old   man 
and  the   child.     Obed  asked   him  the  very  ques- 
tion that  he  dreaded  to  hear. 
"Where's  Emmy?"   he  said. 
"  Gone  out.     I   don't  know  where." 
There  was  a  suppressed  pain  and  impatience 
in  his  voice  which  made  Uncle  Obed  look  at  him 
keenly.     He   had    seen   Mrs.   Blake's  hurried   de- 
parture.     "  Reckon    t'    owd    wumman  has  been 
sayin'  summat  she  needn't  ha'  said,"  he  remarked 
to  himself.     Then,   in   an   unconscious  tone : 
"Mebbe    Emmy's    gone  to   see  her  mother." 
"Yes;    that's    it.     Of    course    she    has,"  said 
Gideon,   with  eager  assent  and   relief.     His  face 

cleared   at  the   comforting   reflection.     He   seated 
9 


126  OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON. 

himself  on  the  garden  bench,  and  asked  John 
what  he  was  doing. 

"  I  l>e  diggin'  a  girt  hole,"  said  John,  whose 
accent  had  been  acquired  mainly  from  Uncle 
Obed — much  to  Emmy's  disgust.  He  stopped  his 
work,  and  leaned  on  his  spade,  looking  at  his 
father  solemnly.  For  his  age  he  spoke  with  re- 
markable clearness. 

"Ay,  and   what's  the   hole   for?" 

"To  get  f rough — to  the  ozzer  side  of  the 
world,"  said  John,  with  determination. 

"  Ah,  I  remember  beginning  to  do  that  once," 
said  Gideon,  with  a  laugh. 

"Did  oo  get  f rough?"  asked  John,  with  in- 
terest. 

"No.  It  had  to  be  such  a  big  hole  that  I 
got  tired  and  left  off." 

"  I  san't  get  tired,"  said  John  sturdily. 

He  resumed  his  digging,  and  the  father  and 
the  uncle  watched  him  with  the  silent  adoration 
for  which  Emmy  often  laughed  at  them  both. 

"Tie's  a  fine  lad,"  said  Uncle  Obed. 

Gideon  nodded,  without  speaking. 

"  But  he's  noan  so  stout  as  he  looks.     He's  a 


OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON.  127 

bit  like  Euth — your  mother,  Gid.  She  died  of 
a  chest  complaint." 

"John's  as  strong  as  a  little  pony,"  said 
Gideon. 

"  lie's  had  a  bit  of  a  cough  ever  sin'  he  fell 
into  t'  watter,"  said  Uncle  Obed  gloomily. 

"  Rubbish !  "  said  his  nephew.  Then,  in  an 
uneasy  tone  :  "  I'll  tell  Miller  to  look  at  him  again. 
But  Emmy  thinks  he's  all  right." 

"Emmy's  nobbut  a  wumman,  after  all,"  said 
Obed  philosophically,  "and  women  is  all  alike  at 
boddom.  A  poor  sort,  mostly.  I  doan't  think 
mooch  o'  any  wumman  I  ever  saw.  Ruth  was 
t'  best ;  but  she's  dead,  poor  soul ! " 

"I  never  can  see  why  you  should  say  'poor 
soul'  because  she's  dead,"  said  Gideon,  with  a 
touch  of  the  crabbed  gloom  to  which  he  was 
sometimes  subject. 

"  Eh,"  said  Obed,  "  it's  because  we  know  what 
we  have  to  bear,  living,  but  not  what  we  come 
to  when  we're  dead." 

"I'm  tired."  said  John,  flinging  down  his 
spade.  "I  can't  get  frough  to-night,  fazer.  I 
fink  I  would  raver  go  to  bed." 


128  OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON. 

He  clambered  on  Gideon's  knee,  and  pressed 
his  soft  lips  to  liis  father's  cheek.  Gideon  held 
him  close,  perhaps  too  close,  for  John  wriggled 
himself  free  and  began  to  cough.  It  was  rather 
a  hoarse  little  cough,  which  Gideon  remembered 
that  he  had  heard  before.  It  went  through  him 
like  a  knife. 

"  Eh !  don't  cough,"  he  said,  almost  sharply  in 
his  agony.  "  Have  you  a  cold  ? " 

"No,"  said  John.  "I  always  cough  like  that 
in  the  evenin'-time." 

"  Mother  must  give  you  some  lozenges  and 
put  you  to  bed,"  said  Gideon. 

Where  was  mother?  Why  did  she  not  come 
home  and  nurse  her  child  ?  Had  she  no  love 
for  him,  as  that  chattering  woman  had  implied  ? 

"Mammy  tells  me  not  to  make  a  noise,"  said 
John  sleepily.  "  An'  ze  man  what  pulled  me 
out  of  ze  river  makes  faces  at  me." 

Gideon's  brow  contracted.     He  started  up. 

"Come,  John,  I'll  take  you  to  bed.  Go  to 
sleep,  and  don't  cough  any  more.  Say  good- 
night to  Uncle  Obed." 

"I    be    a-gooin'   down    to    th'   church,"   said 


OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON.  129 

Obed.  "There's  a  practice  or  summat  agate. 
Good-bye,  lad.  I'll  be  hoame  by  ten,  Gideon." 

He  hobbled  away,  and  Gideon  carried  the 
boy  into  the  house,  undressed  him  with  tender, 
awkward  fingers,  and  put  him  into  his  little 
crib.  Those  who  knew  him  as  a  man  of  mo- 
rose and  sullen  disposition,  with,  as  was  popularly 
believed,  a  violent  and  unbridled  temper,  might 
have  wandered  to  see  him  caring  in  this  way  for 
his  child — unfastening  strings  and  buttons,  listening 
to  the  sleepily-uttered  little  prayers,  sitting  beside 
the  small  cot  until  its  occupant  fell  fast  asleep. 
Throughout  all,  the  dark  face  preserved  its  won- 
derfully softened  expression;  but  when  at  last, 
as  the  light  of  day  faded,  he  rose  to  go  down- 
stairs, it  grew  hard  again — hard  and  set  and  grim. 

Emmy  had  not  come  in  yet.  Supper  was  laid 
in  the  little  dull  dining-room,  but  Gideon  did  not 
touch  the  food  that  was  set  out.  He  went  into  the 
garden,  and  stood  at  the  gate  listening  and  looking. 
The  maid-servant  had  gone  to  see  her  relations. 
Gideon  and  John  were  alone  in  the  house. 

At  last  she  came,  but  not  from  the  town.  Gide- 
on noticed  that  at  once.  She  came  from  the  other 


130  OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON. 

side  of  the  garden,  as  if  she  had  been  walking  along 
the  river-bank,  and  she  was  running  instead  of  walk- 
ing, as  if  she  were  afraid  of  being  late.  When  she 
saw  Gideon,  she  dropped  into  a  walk,  and  began  to 
hum  a  little  tune,  meaning  thereby  that  she  was 
neither  excited  nor  in  haste  ;  but  even  in  that  dim 
light  Gideon  saw  that  her  cheeks  were  flushed  and 
her  eyes  glistening  like  stars. 

"  Where  have  you  been  ?  "  he  asked  abruptly. 

She  stopped  short  at  the  gate  and  looked  at  him, 
laughing  nervously. 

"  I've  been  into  the  town  to  see  mother,  of 
course,"  she  said.  "  And  she  kept  me  talking  so 
long  that  I  was  afraid  you  would  want  your  supper, 
eo  I  hurried  home  to  give  it  you.  Now,  wasn't  that 
good  of  me  ? " 

Gideon  did  not  often  mince  his  words.  He 
lifted  his  heavy  eyes  to  her  face  and  looked  straight 
into  hers. 

"  You  lie ! "  he  said. 

Emmy  recoiled  a  little,  as  if  he  had  struck  her 
with  his  hand. 

"  Gideon,  what  a  brute  you  are ! "  she  said, 
in  a  tone  of  sharp  exasperation.  "I  have 


OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON.  131 

been  to  mother's;  you  can  go  and  ask  her  if  you 
like." 

"  Yes,  but  she  did  not  keep  you  late,  and  you 
have  not  come  straight  from  her  house.  Why  do 
you  tell  me  what  is  not  true  ?  What  is  it  you  are 
keeping  back  ? " 

He  had  all  but  turned  his  stepmother  out  of  the 
house  for  her  insinuations  against  Emmy's  good 
name ;  nevertheless,  suspicion  had  taken  hold  of 
him,  and  made  him  fierce  and  wild. 

"  Why  should  I  be  keeping  anything  back  ? " 
she  asked,  eluding  a  direct  answer,  as  he  very 
quickly  noticed.  "I  have  been  to  mother's  .  .  . 
and  then  I  just  ran  down  to  the  water-path  to  look 
for  a  glow-worm  that  I  saw  shining  in  the  grass.  I 
thought  it  would  amuse  Jacky.  Is  there  anything 
dreadful  in  that  ? " 

"  There  is  more  than  that,"  said  Gideon  slowly. 

His  face  showed  white  and  grim  in  the  twilight, 
and  the  colour  began  to  die  out  of  Emmy's  cheeks. 
"  I  have  been  told — to-night — that  people  talk  about 
you ;  they  say  that  you  spend  your  time  gadding 
about — that  you  do  not  love  your  husband  and  your 
child  any  longer " 


132  OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON. 

"  AVho  says  such  horrid  things  ? "  said  Emmy 
indignantly. 

Then  a  sob  caught  her  voice  ;  she  put  her  hand 
up  to  her  throat  and  looked  away. 

"  It  does  not  matter  who  says  them  so  long  as 
they  are  not  true,"  said  Gideon.  "Oh,  Emmy, 
tell  me — say  that  it  is  not  true — you  do  love  me 
still?" 

The  passion  in  his  voice  touched  her,  but  she 
did  not  want  to  show  that  she  was  touched.  She 
shifted  from  one  foot  to  the  other,  shook  her  slim 
shoulders,  turned  her  head  to  the  dim  landscape  be- 
yond the  garden,  so  that  she  should  not  see  Gideon's 
face. 

"  It  is  silly  to  talk  in  this  way,"  she  broke  out  at 
length,  "  when  we  are  old  married  people,  who  have 
got  over  all  that  nonsense  about  love!  "What  on 
earth  should  we  talk  about  it  for  ? " 

"  Because  I  shall  never  get  over  it — because  I 
care  about  it  more  than  anything  in  the  world  be- 
side," said  Gideon,  in  a  low,  passionate  voice. 

"  You  were  always  foolish,"  she  said,  with  a  cold 
laugh,  "  always  different  to  other  people.  Other 
men  don't  trouble — don't  bother  themselves " 


OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON.  133 

"  Don't  trouble  whether  their  wives  are  false  or 
true?" 

There  was  the  old  fierceness  in  his  tone. 

"  It's  nothing  to  do  with  being  false  or  true," 
said  Emmy,  and  he  saw  a  sudden  flush  of  colour  in 
her  face ;  "  it's  only  a  question  of  my  going  out  to 
tea  oftener  than  you  like,  and  running  down  to 
mother's.  You  are  selfish — that's  what  it  is ;  you 
want  to  keep  me  cooped  up  here,  in  this  miserable 
little  house,  until  I  feel  inclined  to  throw  myself 
into  the  river.  You  get  plenty  of  change  and 
amusement,  but  I  get  none." 

Were  these  entirely  her  own  opinions,  or  were 
they  adopted  from  the  lips  of  someone  else  ?  It 
seemed  to  Gideon  that  they  had  not  quite  a  natural 
ring.  He  wondered  dully  whether  she  had  read 
them  in  a  book. 

"  You — get — none  ? "  he  repeated.  He  was  al- 
most stunned  by  the  accusation. 

"  Well,  what  do  I  get  ? "  asked  Emmy,  raising 
her  voice  defiantly.  "  You  grumble  and  scold  if  I 
go  out  with  my  friends  or  run  down  to  mother's. 
You  never  take  me  anywhere  from  one  year's  end 
to  another.  Other  people  go  to  Scarborough  or 


134  OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON. 

Bridlington,  but  we  go  nowhere.  I  would  not  even 
mind  Cleethorpes ;  it  would  be  a  change.  But  you 
never  seem  to  think  of  such  a  thing." 

"  I  haven't  been  quite  well  able  to  afford  it,  as 
you  know,"  said  Gideon,  who  had  thrust  his  hands 
into  his  pockets  and  was  staring  gloomily  at  the 
ground.  "  And — I  didn't  know  you  wanted  it — as 
much  as  all  that." 

"  Will  you  take  me  this  year,  then  ? "  said 
Emmy  pantingly.  "  Do,  Gideon,  do ;  I  want  to 

go-" 

There  was  a  note  of  pleading  pain  in  her  voice 
which  was  new  to  Gideon,  but  he  did  not  under- 
stand what  it  implied. 

"  I  can't ;  it  is  impossible,"  he  said,  plunging  his 
hands  deeper  into  his  pockets,  and  frowning  darkly. 

He  could  not  bring  himself  at  that  moment  to 
tell  her  that  he  was  unable  to  afford  a  seaside  jaunt 
because  he  had  advanced  every  available  pound  of 
his  own  earnings  to  free  his  father  from  a  mortgage 
whidi  the  holder  threatened  to  foreclose.  He  felt 
vaguely  that  the  knowledge  of  this  fact  ought  to 
exculpate  him,  even  in  Emmy's  eyes ;  but  he  had 
an  unreasonable  dislike  to  making  excuses  for  him- 


OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON.  135 

self,  especially  at  the  expense  of  other  people. 
Therefore,  he  was  silent,  and  Emmy  made  a  gesture 
of  anger  and  disgust. 

"  It's  always  so !  "  she  said.  "  Whenever  I  want 
anything  particularly,  it's  always  the  same  old  story 
— no  money  !  no  money  !  If  I  had  known  you  were 
going  to  be  so  poor,  do  you  think  I  would  have 
married  you  ?  To  live  in  this  hovel  of  a  place,  and 
go  nowhere  and  see  nobody  ?  Not  I !  But  it  .isn't 
poverty,  it's  meanness,  and  that  is  what  makes  me 
angry.  I  hate  a  mean  man." 

"  Are  you  calling  ine  mean  2 "  said  Gideon 
slowly. 

"  Yes,  I  am.  Are  you  so  stupid  that  you  can't 
take  even  that  in  ?  Yes  ;  you  are  as  mean  as  any- 
one can  be,  for  you  won't  spend  your  money  even 
on  your  wife  and  child.  Where  does  it  all  go  to  ? 
You've  no  house-rent  to  pay,  because  your  uncle 
gives  us  house-room ;  and  a  miserable  arrangement 
it  is,  to  have  that  vulgar  old  man  always  prying 
about — 

"  Stop  that,  Emmy ! "  said  Gideon,  roused  to 
decision  by  her  abuse  of  poor  old  Uncle  Obed. 
"  I'll  not  hear  a  word  against  him" 


136  OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON. 

"  Oh,  of  course,  your  relations  are  perfect,"  she 
mocked.  "  But  you're  the.  only  person  that  finds 
them  so.  Mother  always  told  me  I — I  was  making 
a  mistake."  Her  voice  began  to  choke,  and  the 
tears  to  gather  in  her  eyes.  "But  I  ne — never 
thought — you  would  be  so — unkind." 

"  Unkind,  am  I  ? "  Gideon  said,  recovering  the 
grin  mess  of  manner  which  showed  that  he  was  dis- 
pleased. "  Well,  there  may  be  two  opinions  about 
that,  you  know.  I've  only  this  to  say :  you  must 
be  content  to  stay  at  home.  I  won't  have  people 
talking  about  my  wife,  and  saying  that  she  is  a  gad- 
about ;  least  of  all " — and  his  voice  hardened — 
"  will  I  have  them  saying  that  you  take  walks  with 
Captain  Hamilton." 

Emmy  had  been  quietly  crying,  but  at  these 
words  her  eyes  blazed,  and  the  hot  colour  leaped 
into  her  wet  cheeks. 

"  Who  says  so  ? "  she  gasped.  "  Who  tells  such 
lies  about  me  ? " 

"Are  they  lies?"  said  Gideon,  looking  straight 
at  her. 

"  I  may  have  seen  him  once  or  twice  when  I 
was  out  with  John,"  said  Emmy  in  a  beaten  voice, 


OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON.  137 

"  and  he  always  stops  to  speak  to  John  :  he  takes 
such  an  interest  in  him  ever  since  he  pulled  him  out 
of  the  river.  You  ought  to  like  him  for  that." 

"  I'm  grateful  to  him  for  saving  the  boy's  life," 
said  Gideon — "  I  can't  be  less,  I  suppose ;  but  all 
the  same,  I  won't  have  him  hanging  about  my 
house  and  my  wife,  and  making  foolish  people  say 
unkind  things  of  you." 

"  He  does  no  harm." 

"  I  don't  suppose  he  does.  I  should  kill  him  if 
I  thought  he  meant  any  harm — and  you,  too." 

"  Oh,  Gideon ! " 

But  she  was  subtly  flattered  by  the  threat. 

"  So  you  may  tell  him  to  keep  away  if  he  ever 
comes  here  again." 

"  I  can't  do  that,  Gideon  ;  it  would  look  so  rude 
and  unkind,"  she  murmured  faintly. 

"Then,  you  must  keep  out  of  his  way.  You 
need  not  speak  to  him  if  you  meet  him." 

"  I  can't  make  myself  ridiculous,"  said  Emmy 
sullenly.  "One  would  think  you  were  jealous, 
Gideon.  I  should  hope  I  could  look  after  my- 
self." 

"It  seems  you  can't,  as  you've   made  yourself 


138  OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON. 

town-talk  already,"  her  husband  replied  bitterly. 
"  But  for  the  future  you'll  do  as  I  tell  you." 

There  was  a  little  silence.  Gideon  had  said  all 
that  lie  had  wanted  to  say.  Emmy  had  reached 
the  point  where  she  knew  protestation  to  be  use- 
less. She  took  out  her  handkerchief,  and  wiped 
away  some  tears,  as  she  stood  with  her  back  to  the 
garden-gate. 

Gideon,  on  the  other  side,  was  not  insensible  to 
this  mute  appeal.  After  a  few  moments,  he  leaned 
over  the  gate  and  put  his  arms  round  her  waist. 

"  Emmy,  look  at  me !  Don't  cry,  my  darling;  I 
didn't  mean  to  be  unkind." 

"  You  were — very  unkind,"  sobbed  Emmy,  pur- 
suing an  undoubted  advantage. 

"  I  am  very  sorry.  Won't  you  forgive  me  ?  I 
didn't  mean  it ;  and  I'll  see  what  we  can  do  about 
Scarborough.  Perhaps  you  and  John  could  go 
there  without  me  for  a  little  while.  John  does 
not  seem  quite  well — 

"  Oh,  you  can  afford  it  when  its  a  question  of 
John's  health  ;  but  not  when  it  only  affects  my  hap- 
piness !  "  cried  Emmy,  repulsing  him. 

lie  lingered,  mute  and  bewildered,  for  a  minute 


OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON.  139 

or  two,  then  would  have  spoken  again  and  renewed 
his  caresses,  had  not  Emmy  pushed  him  aside, 
slipped  through  the  gate,  and  hidden  herself  in  the 
house,  where,  from  the  lights  in  the  windows,  he 
was  soon  able  to  conjecture  that  she  had  betaken 
herself  to  bed. 

lie  had  a  sore  and  a  heavy  heart,  and  he  could 
not  tell  himself  that  he  had  bettered  matters  by 
speaking ;  fur  Emmy  was  very  cold  to  him .  after 
that  day,  and  went  out  more  than  ever,  in  complete 
defiance  of  his  expressed  desire. 


VI. 

"  Here  I  and  Sorrow  sit." 

THE  autumn  at  Casterby  grew  wild  and  wet, 
after  the  glorious  summer.  Emmy  went  out  less, 
and  was  quieter  than  usual.  She  refused  to  go  to 
Scarborough  with  John,  as  Gideon  proposed  to  her 
to  do ;  but  she  made  occasional  excursions  to  a 
small  seaside  place  at  a  short  distance  from  Cas- 
terby, and  returned  thence  with  an  excitement  of 
manner  which  struck  Gideon  as  inexplicable.  He 
would  almost  rather  that  she  had  gone  to  Scar- 
borough with  John,  for  the  boy's  health  seemed 
delicate,  and  the  father  was  anxious  about  him. 
But  Emmy  laughed  his  anxiety  to  scorn. 

The  breach  between  Mrs.  Blake,  senior,  and  her 
stepson  was  healed,  for  Mrs.  Blake  had  apologized 
(somewhat  reluctantly)  for  her  insinuations,  and 
Gideon  was  too  much  attached  to  his  father  to  be 
implacable.  So  it  happened  that  he  went  to  his 

140 


OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON. 

father's  house  to  tea  one  afternoon  in  October,  for 
Emmy  was  to  meet  him  there  and  to  walk  home 
with  him  afterwards.  Obed  remained  at  home 
with  the  boy. 

They  were  all  seated  at  the  tea-table  when 
Gideon  arrived.  He  hung  up  his  hat  in  the  hall, 
and  waited  a  moment  to  let  a  maidservant  pass  him 
with  a  tray.  It  was  cold  and  wet  and  dark,  and  the 
gas  was  already  lighted  in  the  dining-room,  from 
which  came  the  sound  of  women's  tongues,  and 
the  scent  of  tea,  hot  cakes,  and  eau-de-Cologne. 
As  he  waited,  a  piece  of  news  floated  to  his 
ears. 

"  Oh  yes,  it's  all  broken  off,"  said  the  voice  of  a 
guest.  "  I  understand  that  Captain  Hamilton  is 
going  back  to  London  directly." 

"You'll  miss  hi?n,  dear,"  said  another  voice 
sweetly. 

To  whom  could  she  be  speaking?  And  why 
were  the  words  followed  by  such  an  ominous  little 
silence  ?  Gideon  stepped  into  the  room  in  rather  a 
curious  mood. 

But  he  forgot  the  subject — it  was  one  of  no  im- 
portance— when  he  looked  at  Emmy's  face,  the 
10 


14:2  OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON. 

point  to  which  his  eyes  always  travelled  first  when 
lie  came  into  a  room.  What  was  the  matter  with 
Emmy  ?  for  something  had  vexed  her  without  a 
doubt.  Her  cheeks  were  as  scarlet  as  poppies, 
and  the  tears  did  not  seem  far  from  her  forget- 
me-not  eyes.  There  was  an  unmistakable  frown 
upon  her  brow,  a  pout  upon  her  lips.  The  voices, 
which  had  suddenly  ceased  even  before  Gideon's 
entrance,  now  took  up  their  strain  once  more,  and 
Emmy  was  the  only  person  who  sat  silent  in  the 
company.  But  when  Gideon,  looking  persistently 
at  her.  attracted  her  attention,  she  gave  him  an  un- 
usually bright  smile  and  a  friendly  nod,  and  entered 
into  conversation  with  her  neighbours  with  such 
spirit  that  Gideon  felt  relieved.  He  had  certainly 
thought  that  Emmy  was  seriously  embarrassed  and 
annoyed. 

As  he  had  come  late,  he  was  not  put  in  any  seat 
of  honour,  but  found  himself  close  to  his  stepsister 
Carry,  a  position  of  which  he  did  not  altogether  ap- 
prove. By  way  of  making  talk,  he  asked  her  un- 
concernedly : 

"  Whose  engagement  has  been  broken  off  ? " 
"  Miss  Dale's,  of  course,"  said  Carry  promptly. 


OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON.  143 

"  Oh !  how's  that  ? "  asked  Gideon,  helping  him- 
self to  the  hot  cakes. 

"  Well,  they  say  it's  because  she  has  lost  all  her 
money  and  he  won't  have  her,"  said  Carry ;  "  but  I 
don't  think  anybody  knows  exactly." 

"  He's  a  cur,  if  he  won't  marry  her  because  she 
has  lost  her  money,"  said  Gideon  carelessly,  "  but 
I  hope  it's  not  that." 

"  Perhaps  he  has  seen  somebody  he  likes  better," 
said  Carry  demurely. 

In  the  midst  of  the  dialogue,  across  the 
buzz  of  conversation  that  seemed  to  fill  the 
room,  came  Emmy's  voice,  high  and  sharp 
across  the  lower  tones,  as  she  addressed  her  hus- 
band and  her  sister-in-law  from  the  other  side  of 
the  table. 

"  You  are  very  ready  to  speak  evil  of  people  you 
know  nothing  about,  I  think,"  she  said,  with  red 
cheeks  and  sparkling  eyes.  "  Captain  Hamilton 
would  never  have  given  her  up  for  the  loss  of  her 
money;  it  was  because  he  found  he  did  not  love 
her  that  he  gave  her  up." 

The  eyes  of  the  company  were  fixed  on  Emmy 
in  rather  a  curious  way. 


144  OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON. 

"  How  do  you  know  ? "  said  Carry's  small,  shrill 
pipe. 

And  Gideon  looked  at  his  wife  in  simple  amaze- 
ment. 

"  Oli — I  know,  because — somebody  told  me  so," 
she  answered  angrily.  "And  Captain  Hamilton 
saved  Jacky's  life,  and  I — I  never  like  to  hear  him 
run  down.1" 

"  No,  of  course  not — of  course  not,  my  dear," 
said  old  Joe  Blake,  in  a  soothing  tone.  Emmy  was 
sitting  next  to  him,  and  he  laid  his  big  hand  over 
hers  and  patted  it.  "  You  are  quite  right  to 
stick  uj)  for  the  man  who  saved  your  boy's  life," 
he  said  ;  and  Gideon  felt  grateful  to  him  for  say- 
ing it. 

The  clash  of  gossiping  tongues  began  again  ;  the 
reek  of  smoking  teapots  and  muffins  filled  the  air. 
Attention  was  diverted  from  Emmy,  who  felt 
ashamed  of  her  outbreak ;  but  Gideon's  eye  was 
fixed  thoughtfully  upon  her,  and — horror  of  horrors ! 
— she  felt  the  big  tears  beginning  to  fall.  Two 
splashed  straight  into  her  lap,  a  choking  sensation 
came  in  her  throat,  and  she  wondered  whether  she 
were  going  to  faint.  Then,  fortunately  for  her, 


OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON.  145 

came  the  move  to  the  "  best  room."  She  was  able 
to  breathe  a  cooler  air,  and  to  fly  upstairs  to  bathe 
her  face ;  and  in  a  little  while  she  was  downstairs 
again,  seated  at  the  piano,  and  singing  the  most 
popular  song  of  the  hour  at  the  very  top  of  her 
voice. 

Gideon  was  not  of  a  sociable  turn,  and  he  wanted 
to  be  home  again,  for  John  had  caught  a  feverish 
cold,  which  made  the  father  anxious.  However,  he 
knew  that  there  was  no  use  in  trying  to  hasten 
Emmy's  departure,  and  he  therefore  waited  pa- 
tiently, standing  about  in  corners  with  crossed  arms 
and  an  air  of  resignation  which  some  people  thought 
sullen.  Emmy  was  the  life  of  the  party.  With 
blazing  cheeks  and  brilliant,  dilated  eyes,  she  was 
the  centre  of  every  amusement  which  Casterby 
ideas  of  propriety  allowed  at  an  evening  entertain- 
ment. There  was,  of  course,  no  dancing,  but  there 
were  round  games  of  various  kinds,  and  a  charade 
at  the  close  of  the  evening.  It  was  nearly  twelve 
o'clock  when  the  guests  went  home. 

"  Oh,  I  am  so  tired  ! "  said  Emmy,  as  soon  as  she 
had  quitted  the  house  and  turned  into  the  broad  wet 
street.  Her  vivacity  fell  from  her  like  a  garment, 


146  OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON. 

and  left  her  petulant  and  dissatisfied.  "  Fancy  hav- 
ing to  walk  all  this  way  !  " 

"  I'm  sorry  it's  raining,"  said  Gideon  in  an 
apologetic  way,  as  though  he  were  responsible  for 
the  weather  ;  "  but  we  shall  soon  be  home  now.  I 
wonder  how  John  is  ? " 

"  Oh,  John  !  John  ! "  she  repeated  irritably. 
"  You  care  for  nobody  but  John." 

"  You  have  no  right  to  say  that,"  said  Gideon, 
not  wise  enough  to  know  that  silence  was  his  best 
policy.  "  You  are  always  making  accusations  of 
that  sort,  and  yet  surely  you  are  fond  of  John  your- 
self. At  least,  I  suppose  you  are,  or  you  would  not 
make  such  a  fuss  about  that  Captain  Hamilton  for 
saving  him." 

This  was  carrying  the  war  into  the  enemy's 
country  indeed.  Emmy  wrenched  her  arm  away 
from  him,  and  walked  on  the  other  side  of  the  pave- 
ment, lie  followed  her  with  the  umbrella  which  he 
had  been  holding  over  both  their  heads,  and  half  re- 
gretted his  8]>eech,  for  lie  saw  that  her  lips  were 
quivering  and  her  eyes  ready  to  overflow.  But  she 
did  not  reply,  and  for  some  minutes  they  walked  on 
in  silence. 


OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON.  147 

"  We  seem  to  be  always  wrangling,  now,"  said 
Emmy  at  last,  in  a  heart-broken  voice,  "  and  noth- 
ing I  do  or  say  is  right.  .  I'm  sure  I  don't  know 
how  it  is.  I  think  you  would  be  happier  without  me." 

;'  Don't  be  a  fool ! "  said  Gideon  gruffly. 

"  Oh,  I'm  not  such  a  fool  as  you  think.  I  can 
see  that  you  are  wrapped  up  in  the  child,  and  think 
nothing  of  me." 

"  Your  child,  Emmy,"  said  her  husband,  a  touch 
of  deep  feeling  showing  itself  beneath  his  usual  re- 
serve. 

"  He's  taken  my  place,  any  way,"  she  answered 
obstinately  ;  and  against  this  extraordinary  assertion 
Gideon  felt  himself  powerless  to  strive.  He  tried 
to  change  the  subject. 

"  It  was  a  nice  sort  of  party,  wasn't  it  ? "  he 
said,  a  little  doubtfully. 

"  It  was  a  horrible,  hateful  party,"  said  Emmy, 
with  sudden  fire,  "and  I  can't  think  why  I  ever 
went  to  it.  Silly  little  tea-parties  in  a  country 
town,  what  are  they  ?  If  it  had  been  a  big  ball, 
such  as  one  reads  of  in  books,  or  a  stately  dinner- 
party— but  what  can  you  expect  in  a  little  place 
like  this  ? " 


148  OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON. 

"  But  even  if  we  lived  in  a  bigger  place,"  said 
Gideon,  "  you  know,  my  dear,  we  should  not  have 
the  chance  of  those  things." 

She  made  an  impatient  movement. 

"  Oh,  I  know  as  well  as  you  do,"  she  said,  "  the 
shamefully  sordid,  poverty-stricken  life  we  are 
likely  to  lead.  And  I  don't  suppose  you  would 
have  done  any  better  for  me  if  you  could.  I'm 
tired  of  it." 

Gideon  made  no  answer.  His  temper  was  not 
under  much  control,  but  Emmy's  direct  attacks 
pained  rather  than  angered  him.  His  love  for  her 
gave  him  a  kind  of  patience,  which  he  showed  to 
no  one  else.  Neither  of  them  spoke  another  word 
until  they  reached  the  house,  when  a  few  cold  and 
trivial  remarks  on  John's  condition  were  inter- 
changed. 

John  was  not  well.  He  was  coughing  a  good 
deal  and  very  feverish.  The  following  morning 
was  Saturday,  and  Gideon  left  him  in  bed,  promis- 
ing that  he  would  come  home  early  and  sit  with 
him  all  the  afternoon.  He  thought  that  Emmy 
looked  at  him  oddly  as  he  said  the  words. 

"  Are  you  going  out  ?  "  he  asked  her. 


OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON.  149 

She  turned  away  hastily. 

"  No — at  least,  I  may  run  down  to  mother's. 
If  you  are  with  Jacky,  he  will  be  all  right — I 
needn't  stay  in." 

"  No.  I  only  thought  you  would  hardly  care  to 
leave  him." 

"  I  don't  make  myself  such  a  slave  to  the  child 
as  you  do,"  said  Emmy  scornfully.  "  He  would  be 
all  right  if  he  was  up  and  out ;  it's  a  lovely  day." 

Indeed,  the  sun  was  shining  brilliantly,  and  the 
yellowing  leaves  of  the  trees  looked  golden  in  the 
light.  The  garden  was  full  of  autumn  flowers — 
chrysanthemums  and  sunflowers  and  Michaelmas 
daisies ;  it  looked  quite  attractive  to  John's  childish 
eyes  as  he  lay  in  his  crib  near  the  window.  He 
noted  what  his  mother  said,  but  was  shrewd  enough 
not  to  provoke  discussion ;  he  had  already  learnt 
wisdom  in  these  matters.  When  his  father  was 
gone  out  he  spoke. 

"  Mammy,  may  I  get  up  ?  I'm  tired  of  being  in 
bed." 

"  Oh  yes  ;  get  up  if  you  like,"  said  Emmy  care- 
lessly. She  was  trying  the  effect  of  ribbons  against 
her  face  in  the  glass.  As  John  scrambled  into  his 


150  OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON. 

garments,  without  much  assistance  from  her,  he 
wondered  at  the  pretty  things  that  she  took  out 
from  her  drawers  and  looked  at  now  and  then. 
Once  he  caught  the  glitter  of  stones  and  gold,  and 
pressed  nearer  to  see.  "  Oh,  let  me  look !  "  he 
cried.  He  could  not  understand  why  his  mother 
turned  round  angrily  and  boxed  his  ears ;  he  did 
not  know  that  he  was  doing  anything  wrong.  She 
seemed  to  want  to  get  him  out  of  the  room,  so  he 
crept  downstairs  to  the  kitchen,  where  Keziah,  the 
maid-of-all-work,  consoled  him  and  gave  him  a 
lemon  cheesecake.  But  he  was  not  hungry,  and 
after  holding  it  for  some  time  in  his  hand,  he  put  it 
down,  and  strolled  out  of  the  kitchen  into  the 
parlour,  where  it  was  not  so  hot  and  stifling  as  it 
was  by  the  kitchen  fire. 

Emmy  came  downstairs,  and  found  him  curled 
up  in  a  nest  of  cushions  on  the  sofa,  with  the  cat 
on  hi«  lap.  She  took  no  notice  of  his  flushed  face 
and  heavy  eyes,  nor  of  the  croupy  cough  which 
shook  his  little  frame  every  few  minutes ;  she  had 
matters  of  her  own  to  think  of  which  completely 
absorbed  her  mind.  She  was  dressed  for  walking, 
with  a  rather  thick  veil  tied  over  her  face;  but 


OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON.  151 

through  the  black  net  it  could  be  seen  that  there 
were  hot  spots  of  colour  on  her  cheeks,  and  that  her 
eyes  were  unusually  bright.  Her  voice  had  a 
strained,  unnatural  tension  as  she  spoke. 

"  John,  what  business  have  you  here  ?  How- 
ever, it  doesn't  matter.  I'm  going  out ;  tell  father 
I  shan't  be  home  till — late." 

"Where's  oo  goin',  mammy?"  said  John 
hoarsely. 

"  Oh,  I'm  going  to  see  a  friend.  I'm  going  by 
train." 

"  Give  me  a  kiss,  mammy,"  said  the  child,  rous- 
ing himself  up  and  tumbling  the  cat  off  his 
lap  in  his  haste.  "  You  always  kiss  Jacky  good- 
bye." 

She  came  and  stooped  down  to  kiss  him,  and 
when  she  felt  the  baby  arms  round  her  neck  she 
began  to  quiver  and  to  sob. 

"  Oh,  Jacky — mother's  little  Jacky — how  can  I 
go  away  ? "  she  cried,  with  her  face  on  the  soft  little 
neck. 

"  Stay,  then,  mammy — stay  with  Jacky ;  he's  so 
poorly.  Stay  and  make  him  well." 

Emmy  knelt  beside  him  for  a  moment,  and  he 


152  °UT  OF  °UE  SEASON. 

felt  her  trembling  in  every  limb ;  then,  as  if 
by  a  supreme  effort,  she  rose  and  drew  herself 
away. 

"  I  low  silly  I  am!"  she  said  impatiently. 
"  You  won't  want  me,  John ;  you  have  father  and 
Uncle  Obed  and  Keziah :  you'll  be  all  right. 
Good-bye  ;  take  care  of  yourself." 

She  went  out  without  looking  back.  In  the  hall 
she  stopped  and  called  to  the  maid,  still  in  the  same 
strained,  high  voice : 

"  Keziah  !     Look  after  John,  will  you  ? " 

4k  Are  you  going  out,  m'm  ? "  said  Keziah 
stolidly. 

"  Yes ;  I'm  going  to  Hull,  to  do  some  shopping. 
You  can  tell  master  so  when  he  comes  in.  I  shall 
not  be  home  till  late." 

"  There  ain't  nothing  ordered  for  Sunday  din- 
ner," said  Keziah  in  a  resentful  tone.  "  And  you 
haven't  made  the  pies  nor  nothing.  Master  won't 
be  main  pleased  if  we  give  him  rice  pudden 
again— 

"  Oh,  be  quiet  with  your  puddings  and  pies," 
said  Emmy,  putting  up  her  hands  to  her  ears. 
"  It's  always  the  way — always  a  talk  about  house- 


OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON.  153 

> 

keeping  and  cooking — till  I'm  sick  of  it.  Get  what 
you  like  ;  I  don't  care." 

She  turned  to  the  front-door,  and  Keziah  retired 
grumbling  to  the  kitchen.  A  little  figure  stood  at 
the  parlour-door — a  little  figure  with  tousled  fair 
head  and  feverish  lips,  calling  hoarsely  to  "  mam- 
my "  for  a  parting  word. 

"  Mammy,  may  I  sit  up  till  oo  come  back  ?  "  the 
little  cracked  voice  said. 

It  was  with  a  movement  of  absolute  desperation 
that  Emmy  opened  the  door  and  slid  out  into  the 
garden,  shutting  her  ear  to  Jacky's  plaintive  little 
cry  "  Oh,  why  didn't  I  go  at  night  ? "  she  was  say- 
ing to  herself,  "when  the  child  was  asleep,  and 
couldn't  plague  me  in  this  way ! "  A  sob  escaped 
her  lips.  "  He'll  never  plague  me  again,"  she  said 
to  herself.  Then  a  wave  of  bitterness  checked  the 
sobs.  "  They'll  forget  me  easily  enough ;  Gideon 
simply  worships  the  boy,  and  doesn't  care  a  bit 
about  me.  "Well,  he  will  see  now  that  somebody 
else  is  willing  to  give  up  everything  for  my  sake — 
just  as  I  am  giving  up  everything  for  his.  Not 
that  I  have  very  much  to  give  up,"  she  added, 
laughing  a  little  wildly  as  she  shut  the  garden-gate 


154:  OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON. 

behind  her.  "  Oh,  I  wish  it  was  all  over ;  I  wish  I 
were  safe  in  London — with  George  !  He'll  protect 
me- — lidtt  take  care  of  ine.  I  shall  never  know 
another  care/' 

Here  the  connected  line  of  thought  was  broken, 
for  she  had  turned  out  of  the  lane  into  the  main 
street  of  the  town.  She  would  willingly  have 
avoided  it,  but  there  was  no  other  way  of  getting  to 
the  station,  where  she  meant  to  take  a  train  to  Ret- 
ford.  At  Retford  she  was  to  book  for  London,  but 
she  had  been  counselled  not  to  take  her  London 
ticket  from  Casterby,  as  she  might  be  more  easily 
trucked  if  the  direction  of  her  journey  were  known. 
And  she  had  no  desire  to  be  followed,  just  as  she 
had  no  desire  ever  to  return  to  Casterby. 

Just  as  she  turned  into  the  road  an  open  car- 
riage passed  by.  The  horses  were  going  at  a  foot- 
pace, and  the  carriage  had  only  one  occupant,  whom 
Emmy  recognised  as  Miss  Frances  Lisle.  The  two 
women  looked  each  other  straight  in  the  face,  but, 
for  some  reason  or  other,  neither  .of  them  betrayed 
any  sign  of  recognition.  Frances  was  very  pale,  and 
her  face  had  a  drawn  look,  but  her  eyes  rested 
steadily  and  calmly  on  the  heated,  excited  counte- 


OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON.  155 

nance  that  Emmy  showed  behind  her  veil.  There 
was  an  air  of  triumph,  of  exultation,  about  Mrs. 
Blake  which  Frances  remembered  afterwards.  The 
carriage  passed  slowly  forward,  and  Emmy  sped 
with  hurried  footsteps  to  the  railway  station,  where 
she  took  her  ticket  unobserved,  and  was  quickly 
borne  away  from  Casterby. 

Gideon  came  home  about  two  o'clock,  and  was 
horrified  to  see  John's  face  at  the  door. 

"  What  are  you  doing  out  of  bed  2 "  he  ex- 
claimed, almost  roughly. 

"  Mammy  said  I  might  get  up,"  answered  the 
boy.  "  An'  my  cough's  not  so  drefful  bad  now,  I 
fink.  I'm  so  glad  you've  coined,  daddy.  It's  been 
so  werry  lonely." 

"  Has  mother  gone  out,  then  ? "  said  Gideon,  in 
a  startled  voice. 

"  She's  gone  to  do  shopping.  She  won't  be 
back  till  late." 

"  Missis  has  gone  to  Hull,"  said  Keziah,  appear- 
ing at  the  kitchen  door  with  a  melancholy  face. 
"  And  nothing  ordered  for  to-morrow !  She  said  I 
was  to  ask  you  what  you'd  have." 


15G  OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON. 

"  Oli,  I  don't  care,"  said  Gideon,  gathering 
John  iij)  into  his  arms.  "Get  what  you  like;  I 
dare  say  it  will  be  all  right.  Roast  beef  and  plum 
pie — that's  the  usual  sort  of  thing,  isn't  it  ?  And 
you,  young  man,  you  must  come  in  out  of  the 
cold.  Ah,  coughing  again !  You  ought  to  be  in 
bed." 

"  Mammy  didn't  want  to  go  away,"  said  John  ir- 
relevantly. "  She  kied  when  she  kissed  me,  she  did." 

"  That  must  have  been  because  you  had  a 
cough,"  said  Gideon  cheerfully,  though  he  knitted 
his  brow  over  John's  statement. 

After  dinner,  which  was  a  very  scrappy  meal, 
he  made  Keziah  light  the  fire  in  the  sitting-room, 
a  task  at  which  she  grumbled  a  good  deal,  and 
drew  ii])  the  couch  to  the  hearth  with  all  a  man's 
disregard  for  conventional  arrangements  of  the 
furniture.  Here  Uncle  Obed  joined  them  before 
long,  and  the  two  men  devoted  themselves  with 
somewhat  pathetic  solicitude  to  the  entertainment 
of  the  sick  child.  They  had  a  difficult  task,  for 
John  was  in  the  restless,  petulant  state  of  approach- 
ing illness,  and  would  not  be  pleased  with  any- 
thing. All  his  toys  were  strewn  on  the  floor; 


OUT  OP   DUE  SEASON.  157 

every  picture-book  in  the  house  had  been  brought 
out  for  his  amusement;  and  Gideon  had  roared 
himself  as  hoarse  as  the  child  in  his  successive  im- 
personations of  lions  and  bears,  but  without  much 
result;  for,  with  the  perversity  of  childhood  and 
of  sickness,  John  took  it  into  his  head  to  cry  for 
his  mother,  and  to  declare  that  he  wanted  nobody 
but  her. 

Crying  made  him  cough  again,  and  his  hands 
were  so  hot  and  dry  that  Gideon  at  last  whispered 
to  his  uncle  to  go  for  Dr.  Miller.  The  doctor  ap- 
peared between  six  and  seven  o'clock,  when  the 
light  was  beginning  to  fade,  and  found  Gideon 
walking  up  and  down  the  firelit  room  with  the 
child  in  his  arms.  John  had  sunk  into  a  doze,  but 
when  he  was  roused  he  looked  about  him  with 
glazed  eyes  which  seemed  to  see  nothing,  and  bab- 
bled of  his  mother. 

"  Eh,  where  is  his  mother,  by  the  way  ? "  the 
doctor  asked. 

"  I  expect  her  back  every  minute,"  said  Gid- 
eon, not  taking  his  eyes  from  John's  face.  "  She 
went  to  do  some  shopping  at  Hull  to-day,  unfortu- 
nately." 

11 


158  OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON. 

"  Xay,  my  good  man,  she  didn't  do  that,"  said 
Dr.  Miller  good-humouredly,  and  not  meaning  any 
harm.  "  I  saw  her  at  Gainsborough  Station  this 
afternoon." 

u  Oh,  well,  it's  all  the  same ;  she's  gone  to  buy 
tilings,"  said  Gideon  impatiently.  "What  does  it 
matter  ?  Just  look  at  the  boy,  doctor,  and  tell  me 
what's  wrong  with  him." 

The  doctor  drew  in  his  lips  with  a  smothered 
whistle.  He  had  not  only  seen  Mrs.  Blake  at 
Gainsborough,  but  he  had  noticed  that  she  was  in 
the  Retford  train.  Was  Gideon  not  aware  of  the 
fact  \  The  doctor  did  not  want  to  make  mischief, 
and  therefore  said  nothing  more  just  then.  He 
turned  his  attention  to  the  boy. 

"  Yes,  you  must  get  him  to  bed,"  he  said,  rather 
gravely,  after  examining  him.  "  I  hope  it  won't 
turn  to  pneumonia.  What  will  you  do  for  a 
nurse  ? " 

"We  can  nurse  him  well  enough,  Emmy  and 
I,"  said  Gideon. 

"  Do  you  think  she  will  get  back — from  Ret- 
ford—to-night  ? " 

"Retford!" 


OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON.  159 

"  My  dear  Gideon,  I  dare  say  she  had  got  into 
the  Retford  train  by  mistake.  I  saw  her  in  the 
carriage,  and  wondered  what  she  was  off  to  Ret- 
ford for.  But  if  she  went  there  to  do  her  shop- 
ping, she  will  hardly  get  back  to-night." 

Gideon  had  turned  pale.  He  made  a  step 
towards  the  door  as  if  he  meant  to  rush  off  in 
search  of  his  wife;  then  his  eyes  fell  on  John's 
flushed  face,  and  he  stopped  short. 

"  I  can't  leave  the  boy,"  he  said,  with  a  glance 
towards  the  doctor  that  was  almost  piteous.  His 
hands  trembled,  and  the  doctor  bit  his  lip. 

"  It's  all  right,  no  doubt,"  said  the  rough,  kindly 
little  man.  "  She's  made  a  mistake  in  the  train, 
and  will  come  flying  back  in  great  tribulation 
before  long,  or  will  send  a  telegram  saying  that  she 
can't  get  back  to-night..  Awkward,  when  your 
boy's  ill,  but  it  can't  be  helped.  Shall  I  go  round 
to  Mrs.  Worlaby's  and  ask  her  to  look  in  for  the 
night?" 

Mrs.  Worlaby  was  a  nurse.  Gideon  resented 
the  suggestion. 

"  I  don't  suppose  there's  anything  she  can  do 
that  I  can't,"  he  said  sourly. 


1GO  OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON. 

u  Il'm,  I  don't  know.  Can  you  make  a  poultice, 
for  example  ? " 

"  Xo,  but  Keziah  can." 

"  Keziah.  Let  me  see — Keziah  "Wragge.  Yes, 
she  comes  of  a  nursing  family;  perhaps  she  can 
manage.  I  will  speak  to  her.  And  do  you  get 
that  boy  to  bed." 

The  doctor  strode  out  into  the  kitchen,  and 
Gideon,  seizing  a  nig  from  the  sofa,  wrapped  the 
child  in  its  soft  folds  and  carried  him  upstairs. 
Here  he  found  Obed  Pilcher  on  his  knees  before 
the  little  bedroom  grate,  where  he  was  already 
lighting  a  fire.  Unfortunately,  the  chimney  had 
been  stuffed  up,  and  wanted  cleaning,  and  even 
when  a  bundle  of  straw  had  been  removed  it  did 
riot  "  draw "  very  well ;  the  consequence  was  that 
successive  puffs  of  smoke  soon  filled  the  room, 
thickening  the  atmosphere,  and  making  John  cough 
and  cry. 

"Doan't  thee  cry  now,  sonny,"  said  Obed 
cheerfully.  "  Smoake  '11  soon  go,  an'  then  theer5!! 
be  a  nice  bit  o'  fire.  Sithee  now,  'tis  better 
already/' 

"  Oh,  this  won't  do ! "  said  the  doctor,  coming 


OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON.  161 

in  abruptly  and  snuffing  up  the  smoke.  "  This  is 
intolerable ! " 

He  glanced  round  sharply,  as  if  to  scold  some- 
one, and  then  stopped  short,  taking  in  the  elements 
of  the  scene.  There  was  Obed  Pilcher,  bending 
his  rheumatic  knees  and  half  breaking  his  old 
back,  in  trying  to  make  the  fire  burn  up.  There 
was  Gideon,  sitting  on  the  bed,  with  the  sick 
child — only  the  doctor  knew  how  sick — held  close 
to  his  breast.  A  vision  of  Emmy  floated  before 
Dr.  Miller's  mind,  and — whether  she  came  back,  or 
whether  she  had  gone  altogether,  as  he  shrewdly 
suspected — he  felt  certain  that  only  unhappiness 
and  misery  could  follow  in  her  train.  He  was  sorry 
for  all  of  them — sorry  for  the  old  man,  panting  and 
grunting  over  the  smoking  hearth ;  sorry  for  the 
little  boy,  in  his  feverish  pain  and  weakness ;  sorry 
most  of  all  for  Gideon,  whose  look  of  mute  endur- 
ance touched  the  doctor  to  the  heart. 

He  scolded  no  longer,  but  applied  himself  ener- 
getically to  the  task  of  setting  things  in  order.  Dr. 
Miller  was  a  man  of  resource.  He  suggested  that, 
as  there  was  already  a  comfortable  fire  in  the  par- 
lour, the  child's  bed  should  be  made  there  at  once. 


1T>2  OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON. 

He  helped  Keziali  to  make  and  apply  a  poultice ; 
he  fetched  a  bronchitis-kettle  from  home  with  his 
own  hands,  and  did  not  leave  the  cottage  until  he 
had  seen  all  arrangements  made  for  a  brave  fight 
with  the  malady  which  had  attacked  the  child.  At 
the  last  moment  Obed  Pilcher  took  heart  of  grace, 
and  tremulously  asked  the  question  which  Gideon 
had  tacitly  avoided. 

"  Is  it  serious,  doctor  ?  "  said  the  old  man,  look- 
ing into  Dr.  Miller's  face. 

"  All  children's  complaints  are  serious,"  said  the 
doctor  dogmatically.  "  Their  temperature  goes  up 
and  down  so  quickly  that  they  want  great  care. 
But,  with  care,  there  is  no  reason  why  any  com- 
plaint should  not  be  cured,  if  taken  in  time." 

"With  this  enigmatic  reply  he  took  his  departure, 
calling  out  to  Obed  to  send  for  him  if  the  child 
should  he  worse.  And  then  the  two  men  set  them- 
selves to  wrestle  with  the  enemy  all  the  long  night 
through — to  wrestle  with  the  Angel  of  Death. 

John  was  very  ill.  There  could  be  no  doubt 
about  that.  Every  breath  was  agony  to  him;  yet 
the  fever  ran  so  high  that,  while  his  mind  wandered, 
he  tried  to  talk  and  sing,  and  even  to  spring  out  of 


OUT  OF   DUE  SEASON. 

his  bed.  He  was  quieter  with  his  father's  arms 
round  him  than  in  any  other  position,  and  for  the 
greater  part  of  the  night  Gideon  sat  holding  him 
thus,  while  Obed,  refusing  to  go  to  bed,  sat  over 
the  fire,  ready  at  any  moment  to  compound  a  hot 
drink,  administer  medicine,  or  go  to  the  doctor,  as 
might  be  required.  Keziah  had  been  sent  to  bed ; 
they  had  no  need  for  her. 

It  was  about  ten  o'clock  that  she  had  knocked 
at  the  parlour  door,  and  said  in  her  gruff  way: 

"  Is  missis  a-coming  back  to-night  or  not  ? " 

Obed  looked  helplessly  at  Gideon. 

"  I  don't  think  so,"  said  Gideon.  There  was 
not  a  spark  of  feeling  in  his  tone.  His  eyes  were 
fixed  upon  John's  face. 

"  Then  I  may  as  well  go  to  bed,"  said  Keziah, 
"unless  you'd  like  me  to  sit  up  wi'  John." 

"No;  let  her  go  to  bed,"  said  Gideon  to  his 
uncle. 

"If  missis  should  come  home,  then,"  said  the 
maid-of -all-work,  "  I  reckon  you'll  let  her  in  ? " 

"  Yes,"  said  Obed. 

Then  Keziah  shut  the  door,  and  the  old  man 
went  up  to  Gideon,  and  laid  his  hand  on  his 


I(j4  OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON. 

nephew's  shoulder.     Gideon  knew  that  the  touch 
was  meant  for  comfort. 

"  She  won't  come  back,"  he  said  suddenly,  rais- 
ing Ids  eyes,  already  haggard  and  bloodshot,  to  his 
uncle's  face.  "  She's  left  me." 

"  Xay,  nay,  Gideon ;  she  was  fond  of  thee — 
fond  o'  the  lad.  She's  made  a  mistake  wi'  trains, 
or  summat,  as  the  doctor  said." 

"The  doctor's  a  fool,"  said  Gideon.  "What 
does  it  matter  ?  There's  the  boy  to  think  of ;  it's 
time  for  his  medicine  now." 

And  he  spoke  not  another  word,  except  to  little 
John,  until  the  morning  hour. 

"  No  better,  I'm  afraid,"  the  doctor  said,  with  a 
grave  look,  as  he  stood  by  the  bedside  on  the  early 
Sunday  morning.  "  Hadn't  you  better  have  a 
nurse  ?" 

"Do  you  mean,"  said  Gideon,  "that  a  woman 
could  do  more  for  him  than  we  can  ?" 

"  I  don't  know  that  she  would  actually  do  more : 
she  might  think  of  things  you  wouldn't  think  of. 
Now,  Gideon,  don't  be  absurd.  I'll  just  send  Mrs. 
Worlaby  in,  and  then — 

"  I  will  have  no  Mrs.  Worlaby  in  the  house — 


OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON. 

unless  I  am  injuring  the  boy  by  refusing,"  he  said, 
with  an  ominous  frown  upon  his  face.  "  But  I 
think  I  can  nurse  him  as  well  as  any  woman  in  the 
world.  Look  at  him :  he's  quieter  with  me  than 
with  anyone  else.  I  can  do  everything  for  him 
that  is  necessary." 

"  But  you'll  want  your  night's  rest." 

"  Do  you  think  I  should  take  rest  while  he  is 
like  this  ? " 

The  doctor  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  recog- 
nised that  there  was  something  keener  in  Gideon's 
love  for  his  child  than  that  of  most  men  for  their 
offspring.  He  yielded  the  point. 

"  I  don't  say  but  what  you'll  do  as  well  as  a 
nurse,  if  you  can  spare  the  time  and  will  take  the 
trouble." 

And  then  he  launched  into  new  directions,  to 
which  Gideon  listened  with  eager  attention.  In  his 
heart  the  doctor  felt  that  no  hired  nurse  would  tend 
the  child  like  Gideon ;  but  he  went  away  shaking 
his  head. 

"  I  doubt  whether  the  boy  will  get  over  it,"  he 
said  to  himself ;  "  and  Gideon  will  take  it  hard.  It 
will  be  all  the  worse  for  him  if  he  nurses  the  child 


106  OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON. 

to  the  end.     And  what  on  earth  has  become  of  that 
vain  little  piece  of  wickedness,  his  wife  ? " 

Nobody  could  answer  that  question.  There  was 
an  eight  o'clock  post  on  Sunday  morning,  but  no 
other  until  Monday.  No  telegram  had  arrived.  A 
rumour  of  Emmy's  disappearance  roused  her  mother 
to  desperate  anxiety,  and  she  consulted  nervously 
with  Mr.  Blake  as  to  the  steps  to  be  taken  on  Mon- 
day, if  nothing  were  heard  of  her.  The  police  were 
communicated  with,  for  Mrs.  Enderby  firmly  be- 
lieved that  her  daughter  had  met  with  some  fright- 
ful accident,  which  alone  could  account  for  her 
absence.  Gideon  did  not  seem  anxious,  or  even, 
perhaps,  concerned.  He  was  wrapped  up  in  the 
care  of  his  boy.  He  was  like  a  man  stunned  with 
one  blow,  who  does  not  seem  to  feel  the  pain  of  a 
second.  Consciousness  would  return  by  and  by. 

John  was  very  ill.  Through  the  long  hours  of 
the  day,  Gideon  watched  beside  him,  noting  every 
change  in  the  little  face,  where  the  crimson  came 
and  went  as  the  child  drew  his  painful,  choking 
breaths ;  watched  the  progress  of  the  disease,  and 
fought  it — ineffectually  ;  for  as  time  went  on,  it  be- 
came very  clear  indeed  that  the  childish  strength 


OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON.  167 

was  waning,  and  that  the  hours  of  the  little  life 
were  drawing  to  a  close. 

Visitors  came  to  the  house  in  numbers,  but  were 
dismissed  by  Keziah,  who  had  orders  to  admit  no- 
body. Mrs.  Blake  came,  but  was  politely  conducted 
off  the  premises  by  Obed  Pilcher,  who  made  him- 
self chief  guard  to  the  sick-chamber.  John  was 
to  be  kept  quiet,  the  doctor  said ;  and  it  was  as 
much  for  Gideon's  as  for  John's  sake  that  Uncle 
Obed  kept  the  door.  To  him  it  seemed  as  though 
Gideon  were  more  like  a  wounded  wild  animal 
keeping  savage  watch  over  its  young,  than  a  mere 
human  being.  He  listened  to  no  word  of  comfort ; 
he  took  neither  food  nor  sleep ;  he  never  lifted  his 
eyes  from  the  dearly-loved  little  face,  in  which  he 
had  centred  all  his  hopes  and  all  his  happiness — if 
not  all  his  love.  Obed  would  not  let  gaping  ob- 
servers in  to  see  what  was,  to  him,  a  strange  and 
terrible  sight. 

The  day  crept  to  its  height  and  sank  again. 
Night  came  with  its  desolation,  its  weird  horrors, 
its  lurking  possibilities  of  ill.  The  weather  had 
changed  during  the  afternoon,  and  the  wind  was 
getting  up.  It  moaned  restlessly  round  the  house, 


108  OUT  OP  DDE  SEASON. 

whistling  at  every  crevice,  making  door  and  window 
shake.  Now  and  then  a  dash  of  rain  was  heard 
against  the  window-panes,  and  the  swaying  branches 
of  rose-tree  or  jessamine  tapped  at  the  glass  like  an 
unearthly  hand.  More  than  once  Obed  fancied  that 
he  distinguished  veritable  finger-tapping ;  but  he  al- 
ways sank  back  again  in  his  chair,  acknowledging 
the  source  of  these  strange  noises,  yet  not  without  a 
gleam  of  superstitious  doubt  whether  the  sound  he 
had  heard  might  not  have  been  "  a  call "  for  the 
dying  child.  He  wondered  if  Gideon  had  heard. 
But  Gideon,  with  his  chin  pillowed  by  his  hands, 
and  his  elbows  on  his  knees,  saw  nothing,  heard 
nothing,  but  "  the  boy." 

John  was  delirious  that  night.  lie  was  afraid 
of  his  own  father — the  father  that  loved  him  so — 
and  beat  him  off  with  his  little  hands  whenever 
Gideon  came  near.  He  wanted  his  mother,  he  said, 
and  why  did  not  mammy  come  ? 

"  I  do  so  want  my  mammy ! "  he  wailed  in  his 
broken  voice,  with  the  pathetic,  unseeing  stare  of 
his  great  eyes  fixed  reproachfully  on  Gideon. 
''Mammy  would  take  the  pain  away;  mammy 
would  make  John  better." 


OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON.  169 

It  was  piteous  to  hear;  especially  when  the 
listeners  reflected  that  his  mother  had  shown  so 
very  little  love  for  him.  But  there  are  few  things 
that  rend  the  heart  more  terribly  than  the  wild 
words  spoken  in  delirium  by  those  we  love,  or  an 
absence  of  recognition  in  the  eyes  of  those  for 
whom  we  would  willingly  lay  down  our  lives. 

Once  Gideon  lost  his  self-control,  and  cried  out 
in  remonstrance : 

"John,  John,  don't  you  know  me — your  own 
father  ?  Don't  push  me  away,  lad ;  I've  done  thee 
no  harm." 

"He  doesn't  know,  Gideon,"  said  old  Obed, 
hobbling  to  his  nephew's  side — "he  doesn't 
know." 

"  My  God ! "  said  Gideon,  his  reserve  breaking 
down  as  it  seldom  broke  down  save  in  his  old 
uncle's  presence,  "  I  don't  know  how  to  bear  it — 
that  he  shouldn't  know  my  voice!"  And  a  dry 
sob  shook  his  broad  shoulders  as  he  covered  his 
face  for  one  moment  with  his  hands.  "  John — 
laddie,"  he  said,  raising  himself  again,  "say  one 
word  to  your  daddy — say  that  you  know  him 
now." 


170  OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON. 

But  John  pushed  him  away,  and  wailed  bitterly 
for  his  mother. 

Morning  found  him  very  weak.  The  delirium 
had  died  down,  for  the  fever  had  left  him ;  but 
lie  lay  so  still  and  white,  with  such  purple  shades 
about  his  eyelids  and  his  lips,  that  more  than  once 
Obed  almost  thought  him  dead.  Dr.  Miller,  who 
came  very  early,  shook  his  head  over  his  condi- 
tion. He  gave  orders  about  nourishment  and 
cordials,  saying  that  the  child's  strength  must  be 
kept  up  as  much  as  possible.  And  he  would  come 
in  again  and  see  how  things  went  on. 

The  postman  came  as  the  doctor  went  out  of 
the  gate.  It  was  the  London  post,  and  there  was 
a  letter  for  Gideon. 

Obed  Pilcher  took  it  at  once  to  his  nephew, 
who  was  sitting  in  a  sort  of  trance  of  absorbed 
anxiety  at  John's  bedside.  He  looked  very  hag- 
gard, but  the  doctor  had  insisted  on  his  swallowing 
food  and  hot  coffee,  and  he  was  more  composed 
than  lie  had  been  during  those  dreary  midnight 
hours.  He  looked  at  the  letter  which  Obed  put 
into  his  hand  as  if  he  did  not  know  what  to  do 
with  it. 


OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON. 

"Open  it,  lad.     It's  from  Emmy,  belike." 

Gideon  turned  away  his  face. 

"  Wunnot  tliee  open  it  ?  She  may  say  when 
she's  a-comin'  back." 

At  this  appeal  Gideon  drew  himself  slowly  up, 
and  dragged  the  envelope  open.  It  seemed  an 
effort  to  him  even  to  take  his  eyes  from  John's 
white  face.  He  read  the  letter — it  contained  only 
a  few  lines — and  let  it  drop  from  his  fingers. 

"  I  knew  it,"  he  said,  in  a  dull  undertone. 
Then  he  resumed  his  silent  watch,  with  his  eyes 
fixed  on  the  boy.  But  his  face  had  turned  to  an 
ashy  whiteness,  like  that  of  Jacky's  lips. 

Obed  picked  up  the  letter  and  straightened  it 
out  between  his  shaking  fingers. 

"You  can  read  it,"  Gideon  muttered.  And 
Obed  read. 

"  When  you  get  this  letter,"  Emmy  had  writ- 
ten, "  I  shall  be  far  away,  and  you  need  not  look 
for  me,  for  you  will  never  find  me,  and  I  do  not 
want  to  see  you  any  more.  I  have  found  someone 
who  loves  me  better  than  you  ever  did,  and  I  have 
given  up  everything  for  his  sake.  Yon  had  better 


172  OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON. 

forget  me  as  soon  as  you  can — I  dare  say  it  won't 
be  difficult.  I  hope  you  will  always  be  kind  to 
Jaeky,  and  think  no  more  of 

"  EMMY." 

Obed  Pilcher  was  parish-clerk,  and  felt  himself 
a  pillar  of  the  church,  but  after  reading  this  letter, 
it  must  be  recorded  that  he  swore.  If  his  curse 
could  have  rested  on  Emmy's  fair  false  head  for 
ever,  and  weighed  it  down  to  everlasting  woe,  he 
would  have  gladly  uttered  it  again. 

"  Hush ! "  said  Gideon,  looking  up  with  hag- 
gard eyes.  "  The  boy  will  hear." 

"  But  bean't  you  going  to  do  something, 
Gideon  1  To  send  after  her — to  punish  the  man, 
whoever  'tis — 

"  Afterwards,"  Gideon  answered  quietly,  and 
turned  again  to  the  boy.  And  Obed  knew  that 
he  must  say  no  more. 

There  were  still  some  fluctuations  in  John's 
condition,  and  more  than  once  the  father's  heart 
was  thrilled  with  the  belief  that  he  was  about  to 
recover,  after  all,  and  then  sank,  heavy  as  lead, 
when  an  unfavourable  symptom  declared  itself. 


OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON.  173 

Joseph  Blake  and  his  wife  were  allowed  to  steal 
in  gently  in  order  to  see  the  little  boy.  The  parson 
called,  but  was  not  admitted ;  and  a  hundred  in- 
quiries were  made  at  the  door,  and  dismally  an- 
swered by  Keziah.  Gideon  had  never  been  a 
favourite  in  the  town,  and  Emmy  had  earned 
much  disapproval  for  herself ;  but  little  John  was 
one  of  those  bright-faced  children  of  whom  every- 
one took  friendly  heed,  and  his  comparatively 
recent  escape  from  drowning  had  brought  him  into 
prominence.  No  sick  child  in  the  town  received 
half  so  much  attention  as  was  just  then  bestowed 
on  Jacky.  But  it  brought  no  solace  to  his  father's 
wounded  heart. 

It  was  in  the  early  dawn  of  Tuesday  morning 
that  full  consciousness  came  again  to  the  child  for 
a  little  while.  He  opened  his  dark  eyes  suddenly 
and  smiled  into  his  father's  face.  Gideon's  heart 
throbbed  so  painfully  that  he  could  not  speak,  but 
he  bent  down  and  kissed  the  boy's  forehead. 

"  I've  been  asleep,"  said  John. 

His  voice  was  almost  inaudible. 

"  Yes,  my  lad.     Here,  drink  this ;  it  will  do  you 

good." 

12 


174  OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON. 

John  drank,  and  spoke  in  stronger  tones. 

"  Where's  mammy  ? "  he  said. 

A  quiver  passed  over  Gideon's  face. 

"  She's  away  just  now,"  he  answered. 

"  Gone  to  heaven  ? "  said  John,  with  the  queer 
familiar  speech  of  another  world  which  seems  so 
natural  on  childish  lips. 

An  inspiration  came  to  Gideon's  mind.  It 
would  be  better  for  John  to  think  that  his  mother 
had  died,  and  so  he  bowed  his  head. 

"  Oh ! "  said  the  boy.  Then,  after  a  pause : 
"  John's  goin' — too." 

lie  shut  his  pretty  eyes  as  if  he  meant  to  sleep, 
and  Gideon,  with  a  hideous  grip  of  pain  at  his 
heart,  saw  the  death-damp  gather  on  his  brow. 

It  lasted  an  hour  or  two — that  agony  of  dying. 
It  seemed  to  Gideon  cruel  that  a  little  child  should 
bear  such  pain.  But  perhaps  it  was  worse  for  Gide- 
on to  witness  than  for  the  child  to  bear.  And  at 
last  old  Obed  laid  the  tiny  waxen  hands  across  each 
other  and  drew  Gideon  from  his  place. 

"  It's  all  over,"  he  said  Borrowfnfly.  "  Try  to 
bear  it,  Gideon.  He's  gone." 

Gideon   rose  from  his  knees,  and  looked  from 


OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON.  175 

the  child's  placid  lifelessness  into  his  uncle's  rugged, 
wrinkled  face,  as  if  he  scarcely  understood  what 
had  been  said.  As  Obed's  hand  still  pressed  his 
arm  and  drew  him  from  the  bed,  he  made  two 
steps  towards  the  middle  of  the  room,  and  then 
fell,  like  a  log,  prone  upon  the  floor  at  Uncle  Obed's 
feet. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

"  Would  it  were  I  had  been  false,  not  you ! " 

"  IT'S  a  great  mystery,"  remarked  Mrs.  Blake, 
primly  folding  one  black-gloved  hand  over  the 
other. 

"  It  is  indeed  a  terrible  dispensation,"  answered 
her  friend,  Miss  Lethbury.  "  So  young  a  child  to 
l)e  taken — and  the  mother  left !  " 

Miss  Lethbury  was  a  spinster  of  profoundly 
Evangelical  views  and  an  acid  temperament,  both 
of  which  characteristics  had  endeared  her  to  Mrs. 
Blake,  who  was  not  religious  herself,  but  liked  other 
people  to  be  so — if,  at  least,  they  did  not  carry  their 
religion  to  any  inconvenient  length.  There  was 
this  advantage  about  Miss  Lethbury :  she  ncvrr 
allowed  her  Evangelicalism  to  modify  the  sharpness 
of  her  criticism  of  her  neighbours;  on  the  contrary, 
it  seemed  sometimes  to  add  an  edge  to  it.  She  was 
straight  and  tall  and  spare ;  her  long  nose  and 

170 


OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON.  177 

straight  upper  lip  gave  her  a  look  of  severity  which 
her  words  seldom  belied. 

She  was  sitting  with  Mrs.  Blake  till  the  mourn- 
ing-carriage should  arrive.  Joseph  Blake  and  his 
wife  were  to  be  present  at  little  John's  funeral  that 
afternoon,  and  Miss  Lethbury  had  dropped  in,  en 
passant,  to  hear  the  news.  She  would  have  ample 
time  to  walk  to  the  cemetery  afterwards,  for  the 
Blakes  would  have  to  be  driven  to  Gideon's  house 
before  the  final  ceremony  began. 

"I  always  said  that  Emmy  Enderby  was  very 
deep,"  said  Mrs.  Blake,  lowering  her  tones.  "  It's 
a  dreadful  thing  to  have  come  upon  the  family. 
My  husband's  nearly  heart-broken  about  it ;  and 
Carry  she  says  she'll  go  away,  she  can't  hold  up  her 
head  in  Casterby  again." 

"  Yes,  it's  very  bad  for  a  girl's  prospects  when 
such  a  thing  happens,"  said  Miss  Lethbury,  in  tones 
of  deepest  commiseration. 

"  I  don't  -  see  as  it  need  affect  Carry,  and  that's 
what  I  told  her,"  said  Mrs.  Blake  with  dignity. 
"  It's  no  relation  of  hers,  nor  yet  of  her  father's  or 
mine.  It's  Enderbys  as  ought  to  feel  it  most,  I 
think.  But  there,  they  were  all  of  that  light- 


178  OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON. 

minded  sort,  and  I  was  not  one  bit  surprised ;  but 
it  lias  nothing  to  do  with  its" 

"  Well,  perhaps  you  are  right,  Mrs.  Blake,"  said 
Miss  Lethbury.  "  But  what  will  Mr.  Gideon  do  ? 
Is  he  going  to  get  a  divorce  ? " 

"  Nobody  knows,"  answered  Mrs.  Blake,  shak- 
ing her  head  dolorously.  "He  won't  allow  any- 
body to  mention  the  matter  to  him.  He  was  al- 
ways so  strange — so  shut-up  and  reserved,  you 
know.  Scarcely  anyone  has  seen  him  or  spoken  to 
him  since  the  little  boy's  death.  But  I  should 
think  he  would  get  a  divorce :  there  could  be  no 
difficulty. 

"  It's  quite  Scriptural  to  divorce  a  woman  like 
that,"  said  Miss  Lethbury.  "  And  then  he  could 
marry  some  nice,  quiet  girl — Mary  Tucker,  for 
instance — and  be  happy.  I  suppose  there's  no 
doubt  as  to  who  it  was  she  went  off  with  ? " 

"Not  the  least.  It  was  that  Captain  Ham- 
ilton that  was  once  engaged  to  Miss  .Lisle.  They 
were  seen  together  at  Retford.  And  they  say 
Miss  Lisle  fainted  when  she  heard  that  Emmy 
was  gone.  You  may  depend  on  it,  she 
knew." 


OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON.  179 

"  She  may  thank  her  stars  that  she  found 
out  his  wickedness  before  it  was  too  late  ! " 

"He'd  broken  it  off  before  then,"  said  Mrs. 
Blake.  "Don't  you  remember  that  Friday  after- 
noon at  tea,  when  Emmy  took  up  the  cudgels 
for  him,  and  cried  afterwards?  I  thought  there 
was  something  very  queer  about  it  then." 

"  Hard-hearted  little  minx ! "  said  Miss  Leth- 
bury,  indignantly.  "  I  should  like  to  whip  her 
round  the  town  for  her  behaviour!  Depend  on 
it,  that's  the  way  in  which  women  of  her  sort 
should  be  treated." 

"  I  shudder  to  think,"  Mrs.  Blake  responded 
in  sepulchral  tones,  "that  she  sat  at  my  table, 
and  conversed  with  my  friends  and  my  child ! 
Gideon  was  very  much  to  blame  for  not  restrain- 
ing her  more ;  but  he  is  punished  for  it  now." 

"I  trust  that  the  judgments  of  God  may  be 
blessed  to  his  soul." 

"Well,  I  don't  know,"  said  Mrs.  Blake, 
doubtfully ;  "  Gideon  never  set  up  to  be  relig- 
ious, and  I  haven't  heard  that  there's  been  any 
change  in  him.  He  wouldn't  see  Mr.  Fletcher, 
nor  his  curate  neither,  when  they  called.  And, 


ISO  OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON. 

mercy  me!  there's  the  carriage.  Well,  good-bye, 
Lydia.  We  shall  see  you,  maybe,  at  the  ceme- 
tery." 

•'  I'm  going  to  walk  down  there  now,"  said 
Miss  Lethbury.  "  There'll  be  a  good  crowd  o' 
folk.  They  want  to  see  how  Gideon  takes  it." 

"  Ay,  there's  been  a  deal  of  talk  about  Gid- 
eon," said  Mrs.  Blake,  dismally.  And  then  she 
joined  her  husband  in  the  passage,  put  her  black 
kid  hand  into  his  arm,  and  walked  ceremoniously 
down  the  garden-path  with  him  to  the  mourn- 
ing-carriage at  the  door. 

Such  ceremony  was  befitting  to  the  occasion; 
for,  as  Gideon  was  in  such  desperate  trouble, 
the  Blake  family  and  their  friends  thought  to 
comfort  him  by  honouring  his  boy's  funeral. 
The  action  was  meant  hi  kindness;  but  I  do  not 
think  that  Gideon  drew  any  consolation  out  of 
it.  In  fact,  the  crowd  of  people,  relations  and 
others,  worried  him  whenever  it  forced  itself  upon 
Ids  consciousness. 

As  Mrs.  Blake  had  said,  scarcely  anyone  had 
seen  him  since  the  day  of  John's  death.  He 
had  shut  himself  up  in  his  own  room,  or  in  the 


OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON.  181 

room  where  the  child's  dead  body  lay,  and  ex- 
changed words  with  no  one  save  Obed  Pilcher. 
As  to  his  work,  that  seemed  to  be  completely  for- 
gotten ;  but  his  father,  who  was  extremely  dis- 
tressed on  his  account,  sent  word  to  him  not  to 
come  back  to  the  yard  until  he  felt  inclined.  Obed 
gave  the  message,  but  it  was  doubtful  whether 
Gideon  heard  it.  If  his  father  had  not  given  him 
his  freedom  just  then,  he  would  have  taken  it. 
He  was  beyond  the  binding  of  laws. 

Old  Obed  managed  all  the  details  of  the  child's 
funeral.  He  felt  that  it  would  not  do  to  trouble 
Gideon  with  them.  Even  to  him  Gideon  did  not 
speak.  He  seemed  possessed  by  a  dumb  devil; 
he  scarcely  ate;  and  he  slept  very  little — Obed 
could  hear  him  pacing  the  floor  of  his  room  for 
hours  at  a  time — and  in  the  sight  of  others,  at  least, 
he  did  not  shed  a  tear.  But  when  the  little  coffin- 
lid  had  been  finally  shut  down,  Obed  stood  outside 
the  parlour-door  listening  to  the  storm  of  sobs 
which  shook  the  father's  frame  from  head  to  foot, 
as  he  knelt  beside  the  coffin  with  his  head  upon 
the  lid.  Every  sob  seemed  to  pierce  Obed's  heart 
with  almost  as  sharp  a  pang  as  those  which  Gideon 


1S2  OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON. 

endured ;  but  the  old  man,  too  feeble  now  to  be 
able  to  indulge  his  grief  in  this  passionate  way, 
turned  away  from  the  door  with  shaking  hands  and 
head,  and,  going  into  the  kitchen,  sent  Keziah  out 
of  the  house  upon  some  trivial  errand,  so  that  she 
should  not  hear  and  gossip  about  those  terrible, 
gasping  sobs. 

Gideon  was  hardly  conscious  at  this  time  of 
the  silent,  wakeful  love  of  the  old  man,  which  en- 
compassed/  and  shielded  him  at  every  turn.  But 
Uncle  Obed  was  the  only  person  whom  he  could 
bear  to  see,  and  he  leaned  upon  him  without  know- 
ing it. 

Obed  Pilcher  had  not  much  imagination,  but 
such  as  he  had  made  him  nervous  concerning  the 
funeral.  He  would  have  been  glad  if  Gideon  could 
have  been  kept  away  from  it,  and  thought  that 
it  would  almost  be  an  advantage  if  he  were  taken 
ill.  Dr.  Miller  prognosticated  an  illness,  and  told 
the  old  man  to  be  on  the  watch  for  symptoms. 
But  Gideon  was  apparently  well,  although  he 
looked  white  and  haggard.  His  strength  would 
bear  a  good  deal  of  strain,  and  there  were  no  signs 
as  yet  of  its  giving  way. 


OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON.  183 

Even  on  the  day  itself,  when  he  insisted  on 
carrying  the  child's  coffin  on  his  knees  in  the 
mourning-carriage,  he  seemed  perfectly  composed. 
His  face  was  like  a  mask — rigid,  expressionless; 
but  for  its  almost  deadly  pallor  it  had  not  changed. 
He  went  through  the  ceremony  with  the  same 
appearance  of  calm ;  and  even  the  presence  of  a 
crowd,  and  the  curious  though  not  entirely  unsym- 
pathetic stare  of  his  townsfolk,  did  not  disconcert 
him.  Possibly  he  did  not  even  know  that  they 
were  there. 

It  was  not  then  so  much  the  custom  as  it  is  now 
to  place  flowers  about  the  dead ;  but  on  this  occa- 
sion a  great  wreath  of  white  blossoms  was  laid  upon 
the  little  coffin  just  before  it  was  lowered  into  the 
grave.  Gideon,  looking  down  upon  it,  never  no- 
ticed who  placed  it  there.  Not  till  long  afterwards 
was  he  told  that  the  flowers  had  been  sent  by 
Frances  Lisle.  She  had  reason — poor  Frances!— 
to  be  sorry  for  herself ;  but  she  could  spare  a  crumb 
of  sorrow  from  her  loaf  for  Gideon  Blake  and  his 
child. 

"  He  looked  pretty  much  as  usual,"  said  Miss 
Lethbury  afterwards.  "  Kot  a  tear  nor  nothing. 


184  OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON. 

Old  Obed  Pilclier  was  a  sight  to  see,  with  the  tears 
running  down  into  his  wrinkles,  and  sobbing  when 
he  oiu*l  it  to  have  made  the  responses ;  and  all  the 
rest  of  the  family,  with  white  handkerchiefs  at 
their  eyes.  But  Gideon  stood  there,  his  arms 
straight  down  by  his  sides,  and  his  eyes  on  the 
grave,  just  for  all  the  world  as  if  he  didn't  care." 

She  did  not  understand  the  only  signs  of  sorrow 
that  Gideon  knew  how  to  make.  His  father,  stand- 
ing beside  him,  knew  better.  He  saw  how  "the 
lad,"  as  he  tenderly  called  him,  swayed  at  one  mo- 
ment, as  if  he  would  have  fallen.  He  noted  the 
dazed  look  in  his  eyes  when  the  last  words  of  the 
funeral  service  had  been  read  ;  and  he  whispered  an 
emphatic  warning  to  Obed  as  they  returned  to  the 
carriages  at  the  cemetery  gate. 

"  See  after  the  lad,"  he  said,  "  or  he'll  be  off  his 
head  before  long,  poor  chap ! " 

And  Obed  nodded  assent. 

When  all  the  rites  were  over,  and  the  friends 
departed  from  the  desolate  house,  Obed  ventured 
timidly  upstairs  to  the  room  whither  Gideon  had 
betaken  himself,  with  a  strange  fear  at  his  heart. 
But  Gideon  was  neither  sobbing  nor  raving,  nor 


OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON.  185 

had  lie  cut  his  throat — which  were  the  things  which 
haunted  old  Obed  as  possibilities  night  and  day ;  he 
was  simply  standing  by  a  chest  of  drawers,  with  a 
black  bag  in  his  hand. 

"  What  art  doing,  Gideon  ? "  said  Obed,  startled 
from  his  intention  of  saying  a  comforting  word. 

"  Packing,"  said  Gideon. 

He  rammed  some  articles  hastily  into  the  bag  as 
he  spoke. 

"  Packing,  lad  ?     And  for  what  ? " 

"  I  am  going  to  London,"  said  Gideon,  after  a 
moment's  pause. 

It  seemed  as  though  he  had  hesitated  whether  to 
answer  the  question  or  not. 

Obed  uttered  a  great  cry. 

"  Nay,  lad,  nay !  Not  to  London — not  to  seek 
out  those  who  have  sinned,  and  make  'em  suffer  for 
their  sin.  Leave  vengeance  to  God." 

"  You're  a  good  man,  Uncle  Obed,"  said  Gideon, 
with  terrible  gentleness,  "  and  I  know  you  mean 
well ;  but  you  don't  understand." 

"  I'll  prevent  thee ! "  panted  Obed,  laying  his 
shrivelled  hands  on  his  nephew's  arm,  as  though  he 
could  detain  him  by  main  force.  "  I'll  not  let  thee 


18G  OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON. 

go.  I'll  put  the  police  on  thee.  She  isn't  worth  it. 
Gideon — the  jade's  not  worth  it.  Thee  shall  never 
hang  for  that  little  slut,  Emmy  Enderby." 

Gideon  looked  very  dark  for  a  moment  or  two; 
then  his  brow  cleared,  and  he  put  his  uncle's  hand 
away  from  him  with  a  wan  smile. 

"•  You're  mistaken,  Uncle  Obed,"  he  said  quietly. 
"  I've  no  intention  of  hanging  for  her,  nor  for  any- 
one. I'm  going  to  London  on  my  own  business, 
and  you  can't  prevent  me." 

"  I'll  swear  the  peace  on  thee.  Thou  bean't  fit 
to  leave  Casterby,"  said  Obed  in  haste. 

"  You'll  do  nothing  at  all,"  said  Gideon,  with  a 
touch  of  the  old  imperiousness  in  his  tone.  "  I  shall 
<ro  my  own  gait,  and  you'll  leave  me  to  it.  Else 
you  and  I  will  have  words,  and  part  company, 
maybe." 

It  was  a  threat  which  reduced  poor  old  Obed  to 
instant  submission.  He  could  bear  anything  but 
dissension  between  Gideon  and  himself.  He  re- 
sorted to  entreaty  instead  of  denunciation. 

"  Thee  wean't  get  thyself  into  trouble,  Gideon  ? 
Tha'rt  all  I've  got  left  i'  this  world.  Thee'll  come 
back  wife  and  sound  ?" 


OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON.  187 

"  Ay,  I'll  come  back,"  said  Gideon,  with  me- 
chanical assent,  and  he  went  on  packing  the  things 
into  his  bag,  then  shut  it  with  a  snap. 

"  Thee  wean't  be  able  to  find  her,"  quavered 
Obed,  in  a  lower  tone. 

But  Gideon  only  gave  him  a  look  in  return. 
He  was  not  going  to  betray  his  plans  and  purposes ; 
his  mouth  was  shut  fast — firm  as  marble.  Obed 
sighed  and  was  silent.  He  saw  Gideon  grasp 
his  bag  and  go  downstairs;  he  followed  him 
groaning. 

"  Ah'll  go  wi'  thee  to  t'  station,"  he  said. 

"  As  you  like,"  Gideon  answered,  in  an  ab- 
stracted tone. 

The  two  men  left  the  house  and  struck  into  the 
meadows,  by  which  route  they  could  avoid  the 
highroad  for  some  little  distance.  Neither  of  them 
spoke.  They  did  not  walk  fast,  but  Obed  groaned 
occasionally  as  though  he  were  exhausted  ;  perhaps 
he  had  a  faint  idea  of  making  Gideon  lose  the  train. 
If  this  were  so,  Gideon  divined  his  purpose,  for  he 
stopped  short  in  the  middle  of  a  field  and  faced  his 
uncle  resolutely. 

"  This  will  do,"  he  said.      "  We'll  say  good-bye 


188  OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON. 

here,  Uncle  Obed.  I  shall  be  late  if  I  walk  at  Jhis 
pace." 

"  AVhcn  wilt  be  back,  lad  ? " 

"  Good-bye,  Uncle  Obed." 

u  Lad,  thee'll  come  back  to  me  ?  For  pity's 
pake,  doan't  leave  me  to  die  here  alone,  Gideon. 
I  loved  the  little  lad,  too." 

Gideon  wrung  his  uncle's  hand ;  perhaps  it  was 
impossible  for  him  to  speak.  At  any  rate,  he  made 
no  answer,  but  turned  his  back  on  old  Obed  Pil- 
cher,  and  swung  off  hurriedly  to  the  station.  Obed 
stood  watching  him,  until  the  haze  of  distance  and 
of  approaching  twilight  hid  him  from  view.  Then 
the  old  man,  looking  ten  years  older,  and  more 
shaken  than  lie  had  ever  looked  before,  crept  back 
to  his  desolate  home. 

Gideon  gave  no  account  of  the  next  two  days 
to  any  man.  It  would  have  been  almost  out  of 
his  power  to  do  so.  There  remained  in  his  mem- 
ory only  vague  impressions  of  maddening  gloom, 
of  strange  faces,  of  lighted  streets  and  empty 
squares,  of  bewilderment  unutterable,  and  a  burn- 
ing desire  of  revenge  upon  the  man  who  had  in- 


OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON.  189 

jurcd  him.  lie  could  not  have  told  afterwards 
what  he  did  with  himself  all  day  long.  He  slept 
at  a  quiet  little  hotel,  the  name  of  which  he  had 
learnt  from  his  father,  who  had  stayed  there  once 
or  twice  in  his  life ;  and  in  the  daytime  he  wan- 
dered about  the  streets,  haunted  the  Park,  looked 
up  at  windows,  vaguely  hoping  to  see  Emmy's  face 
at  one  of  them.  London  in  itself  produced  no 
impression  upon  him.  Endless  rows  of  houses, 
crowded  pavements,  a  throng  of  strangers  amongst 
whom  he  was  for  ever  seeking  the  face  that  he 
knew — this  was  all  that  London  meant  for  him. 

He  had  by  some  chance  heard  that  Captain 
Hamilton  had  rooms  near  Bond  Street.  The  clue 
was  small  enough,  but  it  had  been  sufficient  to  send 
him  to  London  and  to  cause  him  to  haunt  the 
"West  End.  Probably  neither  Emmy  nor  Captain 
Hamilton  knew  that  he  had  even  this  ghost  of  a 
clue.  And,  moreover,  it  was  very  unlikely  that 
Gideon  Blake  would  come  across  them,  for  Ham- 
ilton had  made  up  his  mind  to  take  his  companion 
first  to  Paris,  and  then  to  the  South  of  France, 
so  as  to  be  out  of  the  way  of  any  "unpleasant- 
ness." 

13 


190  OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON. 

Hitherto  he  considered  that  he  had  escaped 
"  unpleasantness "  very  fairly.  He  had  managed 
to  quarrel  with  Frances  and  break  off  that  engage- 
ment before  eloping  with  Mrs.  Gideon  Blake,  with 
whom  he  considered  himself  quite  romantically  in 
love.  In  fact,  he  had  lost  his  head  over  Emmy, 
he  said  to  himself.  And,  after  all,  she  was  a  mere 
nobody — a  lout  of  a  carpenter's  wife — and  she 
would  have  gone  off  with  somebody  else,  if  not 
with  him  ;  he  was  quite  sure  of  that.  She  was  of 
that  pate  •  she  was  not  the  woman  to  keep  straight, 
and  he  might  as  well  profit  by  her  weaknesses  as 
any  other  man.  That  was  the  way  in  which 
George  Hamilton  thought  of  Emmy.  And  he  was 
responsible  to  nobody ;  he  had  no  relations  to  speak 
of,  and  if  he  chose  to  enjoy  himself,  why  should 
anyone  object? 

The  nuisance  was  that  Emmy  had  no  decent 
clothes.  She  wanted  doing  up  all  round.  She  had 
no  boots,  or  gloves,  or  ribbons,  let  alone  dresses  and 
hats,  that  Captain  Hamilton  could  walk  out  with. 
She  must  get  herself  a  few  things  hi  London,  he 
told  her,  and  she  should  have  a  complete  rig-out 
when  they  got  to  Paris. 


OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON. 

He  was  sorry  afterwards  that  he  had  delayed 
even  for  those  few  days  in  London.  Emmy  left 
her  home  on  the  Saturday  night,  and  John  (al- 
though Emmy  did  not  know  it)  died  on  Tuesday ; 
the  funeral  took  place  on  the  following  Saturday 
afternoon.  Captain  Hamilton  and  Mrs.  Hamilton, 
as  he  called  her,  meant  to  leave  England  on  the 
next  Tuesday.  Emmy  had  wanted  a  new  frock, 
and  could  not  get  it  before  Monday.  She  said  that 
she  was  obliged  to  stay,  and  Captain  Hamilton 
lessened  the  risk  of  being  tracked  by  staying  at  a 
big  hotel  on  the  Embankment,  instead  of  going  to 
his  old  rooms  in  Ebury  Street. 

It  was  a  hundred  to  one  against  their  being 
seen  by  Gideon — the  unsophisticated  countryman 
to  whom  all  London  streets  were  equally  puzzlingly 
alike — even  if  he  came  to  London  in  search  of  his 
missing  wife.  But  it  is  the  unlikely  thing  that 
happens.  Hamilton  took  Emmy  out  for  a  drive 
on  Monday  afternoon,  and  as  they  were  driving 
back  to  the  hotel  Gideon  saw  them  from  the  pave- 
ment. 

They  did  not  see  him.  Emmy  was  smiling  and 
lovely,  with  a  picturesque  gray  hat  and  feathers 


192  OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON. 

shading  her  exquisite  little  face,  and  a  gray  dress 
trimmed  with  soft  gray  fur,  for  the  weather  was 
growing  cold  enough  for  warm  stuffs  and  trim- 
mings. She  looked  far  prettier  in  gray  than  in  the 
blues  and  pinks  with  which  she  used  to  be  so  fond 
of  bedizening  herself.  Gideon  saw  her  plainly 
for  one  moment — saw,  also,  the  evil,  cruel  face 
beside  her — and  then  the  carriage  had  passed  him, 
and  lie  had  lost — or  nearly  lost — his  chance. 

He  made  a  wild  spring  forward.  He  wanted  to 
stop  the  horses,  or  to  throw  himself  over  the  car- 
riage door  and  drag  the  villain  from  his  place ;  but 
his  attempt  was,  of  course,  an  utter  failure.  One 
or  two  men  dragged  him  back,  swearing  at  him  for 
hi.s  temerity ;  they  thought  he  was  only  a  country 
bumpkin  trying  to  cross  the  road.  Gideon  shook 
them  off,  and  set  off  to  run,  keeping  the  carriage 
steadily  in  sight.  The  horses  were  going  slowly, 
and  that  was  in  his  favour ;  also  they  were  at  no 
great  distance  from  the  hotel.  Gideon  stopped 
short  and  watched  as  they  left  the  carriage  and 
entered  the  big  portico.  Now  that  he  could  have 
confronted  them,  could  have  forced  them  to  speak 
to  him,  he  drew  back,  cold,  sick,  trembling,  almost 


OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON.  193 

afraid.  It  would  be  easy  to  face  him,  but  he  could 
not  bear  to  look  Emmy  in  the  face.  He  was 
ashamed  for  her — he  would  not  cover  her  with 
shame  and  confusion  before  all  the  people  who 
stood  by.  He  would  spare  her  that  punishment, 
and  never  look  upon  her  face  again.  But  he  meant 
to  punish  Hamilton. 

His  desperation  gave  him  cunning  and  courage. 
He  hung  about  the  building,  and  made  friends  with 
a  commissionaire,  who  in  turn  introduced  him  to 
the  boots  wThen  he  came  out  with  some  luggage. 
Gideon  soon  learned  that  Captain  and  Mrs.  Hamil- 
ton were  staying  in  the  house,  but  leaving  for  Paris 
on  the  morrow.  The  Captain  generally  went  out 
for  a  stroll  after  dinner  with  a  cigar.  "  Not  a  bad 
place  for  a  stroll,"  said  Boots,  indicating  the  Em- 
bankment with  a  nod  and  a  grin.  Gideon  gave 

~  O 

them  some  money  to  get  rid  of  them  when  he  had 
found  out  all  that  he  wanted  to  know.  Then  he 
set  himself  to  wait,  within  sight  of  the  door,  for  his 
enemy. 

The  daylight  changed  into  gloom,  and  then  into 
the  glare  of  dim  yellow  light  which  came  from  the 
gas-lamps.  The  roar  of  the  street  surged  around 


194  OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON. 

Gideon  until  it  almost  stupefied  him.  Cabs  whirled 
by  ;  heavy  omnibuses  and  vans  lumbered  slowly 
along ;  a  man  with  a  truck  of  fruit  bawled  his 
wares  continuously  in  his  ear.  Gideon  stood  in  a 
recess  where  he  could  see  the  people  who  came  out 
and  in.  Visitors  arrived  with  cabs  laden  with  lug- 
gage ;  later  on  these  arrivals  became  infrequent. 
There  was  a  perpetual  whistle  for  cabs  from  a 
stand  over  the  way ;  and  then  ladies  and  gentlemen 
in  evening  dress  would  come  out  of  the  big  portico 
and  drive  away.  Gideon  became  very  much  afraid 
lest  the  man  he  sought  should  escape  him  in  this 
way.  Not  that  he  should  not  recognise  him  in 
evening  dress,  but  that  if  Emmy  was  at  his  side 
Gideon  feared  that  his  strength  would  fail. 

But  about  ten  o'clock,  when  Gideon  had  almost 
begun  to  despair,  the  man  he  sought  came  out  of 
the  hotel.  He  paused  at  the  door  to  light  his  cigar, 
and  in  the  glare  of  the  lamps,  Gideon  noted  every 
feature  of  the  cold  yet  sengual  face  of  his  wife's 
betrayer.  George  Hamilton  was  in  his  way  a  hand- 
some man,  but  he  had  always  been  a  very  self- 
indulgent  one ;  he  had  never  denied  himself  a 
pleasure  that  he  could  procure  at  any  cost,  in  his 


OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON.  195 

life,  and  thirty  years  of  unbridled  and  often  vicious 
habits  had  left  their  imprint  on  the  lines  of  his  face. 
These  were  a  little  more  apparent  than  usual  when 
Gideon  stood  looking  at  him  ;  for  he  was  not  on  his 
good  behaviour,  and  he  must  have  known  in 
his  heart  that  he  had  done  a  peculiarly  mean 
thing. 

Gideon  did  not  theorize,  he  did  not  even  say  to 
himself  that  Hamilton's  face  was  bad ;  but  he  knew 
that  he  hated  it  with  a  vindictive  hatred  which 
made  him  long  to  see  it  lying  in  the  dust  at  his  feet. 
It  was  not  in  his  mind  to  kill  the  man.  He  wanted 
rather  to  make  him  suffer,  to  see  him  writhe  with 
pain  and  cry  for  mercy — to  disgrace  him  in  the 
world's  eyes  and  in  his  own.  Life  and  death  were 
not  the  issues  in  his  mind  just  then,  although  he 
was  hardly  concerned  as  to  whether  Hamilton  lived 
or  died. 

Captain  Hamilton  lighted  his  cigar,  and  turned 
towards  the  Embankment,  where  he  liked  to  take  a 
short  walk  between  dinner  and  bedtime.  He  had 
given  up  the  slight  nervous  fear  of  meeting  Gideon 
Blake  which  he  had  felt  at  first.  Emmy  had  so 
impressed  him  with  Gideon's  ignorance  and  stupid- 


1D6  OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON. 

ity  that  he  did  not  think  the  young  man  capable  of 
finding  him  out. 

There  were  not  many  people  on  the  Embank- 
ment, but  it  seemed  to  Gideon  that  the  broad  side- 
walk was  inconveniently  full.  At  last  he  quickened 
his  pace,  and  touched  Captain  Hamilton  on  the 
shoulder.  Hamilton  turned  with  a  start. 

"  I  want  to  speak  to  you,"  said  Gideon. 

Captain  Hamilton's  face  turned  white.  He 
looked  round  for  help ;  but  no  policeman  was  in 
sii^lit,  and  for  the  moment  the  street  looked  de- 

o       * 

sorted.  They  were  near  a  flight  of  steps  leading 
down  to  one  of  the  piers,  and  Gideon  edged  him 
steadily  towards  the  wide  square  landing  or  bay  at 
the  head  of  the  steps,  where  they  were  compara- 
tively secure  from  observation.  It  need  scarcely  be 
said  that  George  Hamilton  did  not  like  this  move- 
ment on  Gideon's  part. 

"  I  don't  know  you,"  he  said,  trying  to  pass  him, 
and  feigning  non -recognition.  "  I  have  nothing  to 
say  to  you.  I— 

"  I  said  I  had  something  to  say  to  you"  re- 
marked Gideon  quietly.  "You  know  who  I  am 
very  well.  My  wife  is  with  you  now  at  that  hotel. 


OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON.  197 

No,  you  needn't  call  out ;  I'll  throw  you  over  the 
parapet  if  you  do.  I  came  to  London  to  tell  you 
that  you  are  a  damned  villain,  and  to  give  you — 
this/99 

It  was  a  blow  which  felled  Hamilton  to  the 
ground.  He  did  not  even  cry  out ;  Gideon  waited 
a  moment,  raised  his  list  to  strike  again,  then  let  it 
drop  to  his  side.  He  could  not  strike  a  man  who 
did  not  resist.  He  was  not  a  savage ;  he  was  an 
Englishman  who  believed  in  a  fair  fight,  not  in 
murder.  If  Hamilton  had  moved  or  cried  out, 
Gideon  would  not  have  spared  him.  But  a  shape- 
less, motionless  heap  on  the  wet  ground  at  his  feet, 
what  could  he  do  to  that  ? 

"  Get  up,"  he  said,  touching  him  contemptuously 
with  his  foot — "  get  up  and  take  the  rest  of  it.  I'll 
break  every  bone  in  your  body  before  I've  done 
with  you." 

The  fierceness  was  rising  within  him ;  although 
his  voice  was  still  low,  it  had  a  savage  tone.  He 
threw  himself  down,  and  turned  the  man  round 
roughly,  to  see  whether  he  had  fainted  or  not.  But 
Hamilton's  face  was  more  ghastly  than  any  that 
Gideon  had  ever  seen.  It  wore  a  strangely  livid 


198  OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON. 

hue,  and  the  blood  that  had  trickled  from  a  wound 
upon  his  temple  was  already  black  and  coagulated. 
The  pinched  look  of  the  nose  and  mouth  brought 
back  to  Gideon's  mind  a  picture  of  the  dead  body 
of  his  little  child.  So  John  had  looked  before  they 
laid  him  in  the  grave. 

It  was  not  that  he  renounced  or  regretted  his 
plans  of  vengeance  when  he  saw  Hamilton  lying 
thus  before  him,  with  the  pallor  of  the  grave  upon 
his  face.  It  was  only  that  this  remembrance  of 
John's  white  baby  brow  and  sunken  eyes,  with  their 
darkened  lids,  made  him  giddy  and  confused.  He 
hardly  knew  what  he  had  done  or  what  he  meant  to 
do.  Xobody  had  noticed  the  encounter ;  nobody  in 
passing  seemed  to  see  the  dark  heap  with  the  up- 
turned white  face  upon  the  paved  space  at  the  head 
of  the  steps.  Gideon  turned  his  back  upon  it,  and 
walked  away.  His  mind  was  dazed,  and  he  did  not 
think  of  calling  for  help  or  of  ascertaining  Hamil- 
ton's condition  more  precisely.  He  left  the  steps, 
and  walked  towards  the  City,  not  knowing  whither 
he  went  or  what  he  did. 

At  midnight  he  found  himself  on  a  seat  in  one 
of  the  embrasures  of  a  great  stone  bridge.  Ho 


OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON.  199 

knew  that  it  was  midnight,  because  he  heard  the 
deep  tones  of  a  great  bell  sending  its  reverberations 
far  and  wide  over  the  shimmering  waters  and  the 
silent  City  streets.  It  was  this  sound  which  had 
roused  him  from  the  stupor  into  which  he  had 
fallen.  He  looked  round  him,  and  did  not  know 
where  he  was.  It  might  have  been  another  world? 
for  anything  he  could  tell.  He  had  not  seen  any- 
thing like  it  in  his  life  before.  Below  the  bridge, 
and  for  some  distance,  he  saw  the  dark  and  sullen 
water,  studded  with  black  shapes  here  and  there — 
barges  with  lamps  fixed  to  their  prows,  of  which 
the  ripples  sent  back  a  quivering  reflection.  Far 
away  in  the  distance  other  lights  could  be  seen — 
long  rows  of  them  in  threes  on  either  side  the  bank, 
and  points  of  single  radiance,  red  and  white  and 
green,  at  intervals.  At  one  side  a  dim  dome-like 
building  broke  the  horizontal  lines  of  roofs  and 
banks.  It  was  the  bell  of  St.  Paul's  that  Gideon 
had  heard.  Above  the  river  there  was  a  cloudy 
sky,  with  no  light  of  moon  or  stars ;  but  the  night 
was  fairly  warm,  although  Gideon  shivered  where 
he  sat. 

All  the  past  broke  upon  him  suddenly.     He  re- 


200  OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON. 

membered  the  years  of  his  married  life — years  of 
disappointment,  sweetened  only  by  the  love  and 
hope  which  John  had  brought  into  it — he  remem- 
bered John's  death  and  Emmy's  desertion,  and  his 
own  revenge.  He  looked  down  at  his  hand  in  dull 
amaze.  "I  am  a  murderer!"  he  said  to  himself, 
lie  thought  of  the  stir  that  would  be  made  in 
Casterby  when  news  came  that  he,  Gideon  Blake, 
was  in  prison  for  killing  George  Hamilton.  "Well, 
all  who  knew  him  would  say  that  he  was  right. 
Only  there  would  be  the  disgrace  of  prison,  the 
punishment — for  he  did  not  doubt  that  he  would 
be  hanged — and  the  broken  lives  and  hopes  that 
would  follow  in  its  train.  For  the  Casterby  folk 
would  never  let  the  Blakes  forget  that  one  of  their 
family  had  been  hanged.  They  would  have  to 
leave  the  place  where  they  had  lived  so  long  and 
been  thought  so  well  of.  And  Obed — old  Obed — 
he  would  die  of  a  broken  heart. 

Was  there  any  way  out  of  it  ? 

lie  looked  over  the  parapet,  and  saw  the  dark 
waters  glancing  underneath.  If  he  threw  himself 
into  the  river  and  was  drowned,  would  not  every- 
body be  thankful  ?  Then  there  would  be  no  ex- 


OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON.  201 

posure,  no  disgrace.  Hamilton  would  be  dead ; 
Gideon  would  have  disappeared,  and  there  was  an 
end.  Emmy  was  nothing  to  him  now.  He  could 
not  believe  that  she  had  any  claim  upon  him ;  he 
shrank  even  from  thinking  of  her.  She  must  go  to 
the  workhouse,  or  beg  her  bread  from  door  to  door, 
he  supposed ;  he  did  not  know  what  became  of 
women  like  her.  She  could  but  fall  to  lower 
depths ;  he,  too,  would  fall  lower  if  he  lived — ho 
the  murderer,  and  she  the  harlot ! 

He  shivered  violently,  and  raised  his  head  to 
look  round.  There  was  no  one  in  sight.  The  po- 
liceman who  had  eyed  him  curiously  two  or  three 
times  was  quite  at  the  other  end  of  the  bridge.  He 
lifted  himself  cautiously,  and  put  his  hands  on  the 
parapet,  dragging  his  legs  up  on  the  stone  coping 
so  as  to  be  ready  for  a  spring.  He  knew  that  he 
must  be  swift,  or  he  would  be  observed  and  stopped. 
He  began  to  draw  himself  up  into  the  necessary 
posture,  when  suddenly  a  strong  hand  seized  his 
arm  and  pulled  him  back. 

"  That's  a  dangerous  amusement,"  said  a  young 
strong  voice.  "  "What  do  you  mean  by  it  ? " 


VIII. 

"  Because  I  seek  Thee  not,  oh,  seek  Thou  me ! 
Because  my  lips  arc  dumb,  oh,  hear  the  cry 
I  do  not  utter  as  Thou  passest  by, 
And  from  my  life-long  bondage  set  me  free  I" 

GIDEON  struggled  for  a  moment,  then  suc- 
cumbed. The  hands  that  held  him  were  stronger 
than  his  own.  lie  broke  out  in  wild  appeal. 

"  Let  me  go ! "  he  said.  "  For  God's  sake,  let 
me  go !  There's  no  place  for  me  in  this  world.  It 
would  be  the  truest  kindness  to  let  me  get  out 
of  it." 

"  Why  should  you  go  to  another  world  where 
there  is  also  no  place  for  you  ? "  said  the  stranger. 

lie  was  not  much  older  than  Gideon  himself, 
and  far  less  robust-looking ;  but  he  had  an  alertness 
of  glance,  a  resoluteness  of  manner,  which  ac- 
counted for  Gideon's  submission.  He  was  subdued 
by  the  moral  power  of  the  man,  not  by  his  physical 
strength. 


208 


OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON.  203 

"  I  don't  care  where  I  go,"  Gideon  answered, 
again  striving  to  break  away.  "  I've  come  to  the 
end  of  everything." 

"  Even  to  the  end  of  God's  mercies  ? "  said  the 
other  man. 

Gideon  uttered  a  fierce  word  of  blasphemy. 

"  I've  lost  everything  I  care  for  in  the  world." 
he  went  on.  "  My  boy's  dead ;  my  wife  has  left 
me ;  I've  just  killed  the  scoundrel  that  enticed  her 
away  ;  I  shall  be  hanged  for  it  if  I  give  myself  up. 
Don't  you  think  I  should  be  better  dead  ? " 

"  No,  indeed  I  don't,"  said  the  new-comer.  "  I 
should  say  you  were  about  the  last  person  that 
ought  to  die,  and  you're  coming  home  with  me." 

"  I — I  come  home  with  you  ?  I  can't,"  said  Gide- 
on ;  but  as  he  spoke  he  turned  faint,  and  the  whole 
world  swam  before  his  eyes. 

He  staggered,  and  the  other  man,  slighter  and 
shorter  although  he  was,  seized  him  by  the  arm  and 
obliged  him  to  lean  upon  him  until  they  got  off  the 
bridge. 

Gideon  dimly  remembered  being  helped  into  a 
cab,  and  then  for  a  time  he  knew  no  more. 

He  had  a  narrow  escape  of  brain -fever.     For 


204  OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON. 

several  days  lie  lay  in  a  strange,  semi-comatose  con- 
dition, unable  to  speak  or  think,  and  suffering 
frightful  pain  in  the  head,  alleviated  only  by  con- 
stunt  applications  of  ice.  He  was  thankful,  in  a 
vague  way,  for  the  relief  which  was  afforded  him ; 
but  he  was  not  strong  enough  to  ask  whether  he 
was  in  a  hospital  or  a  workhouse,  or  among  friends. 
What  friends,  indeed,  had  he  to  nurse  him  ?  He 
had  not  the  energy  to  ask  questions.  He  was  only 
too  thankful  to  lie  still,  and  to  feel  the  throbbing  of 
his  head  become  gradually  less,  in  a  darkened 
chamber,  with  soft,  cool  bandages  upon  his  aching 
brow. 

Little  by  little  he  came  to  recognise  his  most 
constant  nurse  and  visitor  as  the  young  man  who 
had  saved  him  from  committing  suicide  from  Black- 
friars  Bridge.  This  young  man  wore  in  the  house 
a  narrow  black  gown,  which  Gideon  was  not  learned 
enough  to  call  a  cassock,  and  almost  any  eye  but 
that  of  an  inexperienced  country  lad  would  have 
re-cognised  the  fact  that  he  was  of  the  priestly  pro- 
fession. There  was  a  look,  a  manner,  that  was  un- 
mistakable ;  but  the  gracious  kindliness  of  the  one, 
the  somewhat  ascetic  refinement  of  the  other,  were, 


OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON.  205 

to  Gideon,  simply  individual  traits,  and  therefore 
the  more  fascinating. 

When  he  was  well  enough  to  consider  the 
matter,  Gideon  contemplated  the  young  priest  with 
a  curious  mingling  of  sensations.  Here  was  a  man 
of  his  own  age  or  thereabouts,  whose  whole  life,  as 
Gideon  vaguely  felt,  was  led  upon  principles  so  ut- 
terly different  from  his  own  that  they  almost  alarmed 
and  repelled  him.  There  was  an  attraction  about 
them  too — or  about  the  man,  Gideon  could  not  say 
which  it  was.  He  led  a  life  of  entire  self-abnega- 
tion :  so  much  was  clear.  The  room  in  which 
Gideon  lay  was  Father  John's  own  room — the 
young  priest  was  styled  Father  John  by  everybody, 
and  Gideon  never  inquired  about  his  other  name — 
and  a  bare,  white-washed  little  room  it  was.  Gide- 
on had  Father  John's  bed,  and  the  priest  slept  con- 
tentedly on  the  floor.  The  sick  man  used  to  watch 
his  host  sometimes  when  he  was  thought  to  be 
asleep ;  and  nothing  in  his  life  ever  amazed  him 
more  than  Father  John's  prayers  at  night  and  morn- 
ing before  the  black  and  white  crucifix  that  hung 
upon  the  ugly  white  wall.  Sometimes  they  were  in 

Latin,  and  then  Gideon  went  to  sleep ;  but  when 
14 


206  OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON. 

they  were  in  English,  and  said  aloud,  Gideon  would 
listen  as  if  he  were  in  a  wonderful  dream.  For  it 
was  to  him  like  a  dream,  that  a  man  should  kneel 
down  and  talk  to  some  unseen  Power,  and  ask,  not 
only  for  grace  and  help  in  general  terms,  but  for 
individual  gifts  for  individual  persons,  Gideon  in- 
cluded, although  the  priest  did  not  know  him  yet 
by  name. 

"  This  man  that  I  have  brought  home,"  said 
Father  John,  in  his  specializing,  half-familiar  way 
— "  this  man  with  the  load  of  trouble  on  his  breast, 
Thou,  Lord,  knowest  how  to  help  him  better  than 
I  can  do ;  forget  him  not,  O  Lord,  nor  his  sad  and 
heavy  burthen  which  weighs  him  down  to  the  very 
earth  with  shame  and  pain  and  bitterness — 

"  How  do  you  know  ? "  said  Gideon  from  his 
bed. 

Father  John  was  on  his  feet  in  a  moment,  look- 
ing startled  ;  but  only  for  a  moment. 

"  My  dear  fellow,"  he  said  in  his  ordinary  tones, 
as  he  walked  to  the  bed  and  re-arranged  Gideon's 
tumbled  coverings,  "  I  thought  you  were  fast 
asleep." 

"  I  was  wide  awake,  and  I  heard  every  word 


OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON.  207 

you  said.  How  do  you  know  anything  about 
me?" 

"  Don't  you  remember  what  you  said  to  me  on 
the  night  when  I  met  you  first  ? " 

"  I  was  on  the  bridge,"  said  Gideon  slowly.  "  I 
tried  to  jump  into  the  river.  You  pulled  me  back. 
But  I  don't  know  what  I  said." 

"  You  said—         Shall  I  tell  you  ? " 

"  Yes,  tell  me,"  said  Gideon,  turning  away  hip 
head. 

"  That  you  had  lost  your  boy — your  own  child, 
was  it  ?  Ah,  yes !  And  that  someone  else — your 
wife — had  left  you.  Perhaps  all  this  was  a 
dream  ? " 

"  !N"o,"  Gideon  answered  in  a  harder  voice  ;  "  it 
was  not  a  dream.  And  I  killed  the  man — that's 
all.  I  suppose  I  told  you  that  ? " 

"  Yes,  you  told  me  that." 

There  was  a  little  silence,  and  then  Father  John 
said,  with  great  sweetness  and  gentleness  of  tone : 

"  God  help  you,  my  friend." 

"  It's  too  late,"  said  Gideon  gruffly. 

"  How  can  it  be  too  late  ?  God's  mercies  are 
infinite." 


208  OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON. 

"  Ay,  that's  all  very  well,"  Gideon  said,  trying 
to  explain  himself;  "but  what  I  mean  is,  that 
what's  done  is  done,  and  I  shall  never  be  clear  from 
it  again." 

"  Clear  from  the  feeling  of  guilt — the  stain  of 
wrong-doing  ? " 

"  I  don't  know.  I  can't  get  rid  of  that  man's 
face — on  the  Embankment.  He  had  been  alive  a 
minute  before.  .  .  .  He  had  done  me  a  great 
wrong,  but — all  the  same,  it's  terrible  to  take  a 
man's  life."  Gideon's  voice  sank  to  a  sort  of  moan. 
"  If  there's  anything  true  in — in — your  religion 
and  all  that,"  he  went  on,  "it  means,  I  suppose, 
that  I  shall  never  see  my  boy  again  ?" 

Father  John  was  silent  for  a  moment. 

"  Was  that  on  the  night  I  met  you  ? "  he  asked. 

"  Yes." 

"  I  don't  remember  hearing  of  any  case  of  the 
kind — any  mysterious  death  on  the  Embankment 
Can  you  tell  me  where  it  happened  ? " 

Gideon  tried  to  describe  the  place.  He  told  the 
name  of  the  hotel  at  which  Captain  Hamilton  had 
been  staying,  and  he  told  his  enemy's  name ;  but  he 
did  not  tell  his  own. 


OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON.  209 

"  Will  you  let  me  make  some  inquiries  ? "  said 
the  kindly  young  priest.  "  I  have  an  idea  that  he 
may,  perhaps,  only  have  fainted.  I  will  find  out 
without  saying  anything  about  you." 

Gideon  assented  hopelessly.  He  was  perfectly 
sure  that  Hamilton  was  dead. 

The  next  day  Father  John  came  to  his  bedside, 
and  smiled  at  him,  then  grew  grave  again  and  be- 
gan to  speak. 

"  God  has  been  very  good  to  you,"  he  said ; 
"  He  did  not  allow  you  to  take  your  enemy's  life. 
Captain  Hamilton  has  been  very  ill,  but  he  is  out 
of  danger  now." 

"  Living  ? "  said  Gideon,  starting  up  and  then 
falling  back  again.  "  He  is  alive  ? " 

"  Yes,  he  is  alive.  He  was  found  soon  after 
you  left  him,  and  carried  to  a  hospital." 

"  Is— she— with  him  ? " 

"  I  cannot  tell  you." 

Gideon  averted  his  head. 

At  first  the  priest  thought  that  his  communica- 
tion had  produced  very  little  effect ;  but  presently 
he  found  that  his  patient  was  weeping.  A  great 
sob  shook  his  gaunt  shoulders  now  and  then.  The 


210  OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON. 

relief  was  almost  more  than  lie  could  bear.  He  had 
hated  George  Hamilton,  but  it  was  an  awful  thing 
to  feel  himself  a  murderer.  Little  by  little  he 
dropped  out  words  and  sentences  that  told  the 
priest  what  he  had  felt. 

"  It  isn't  that  I've  been  afraid  of  punishment  for 
myself;  but  it's  the  thought  of  one's  father  and 
one's  friends.  .  .  .  Every  night  I've  fancied  myself 
in  the  dock,  with  the  judge  putting  on  his  black 
cap,  and  my  father  and  Uncle  Obed  sitting  on  the 
seats  listening  to  hear  him  say  '  hanged  by  the  neck 
till  you  are  dead.'  .  .  .  And  then,  after  that  .  .  . 
'  Thou  shalt  not  kill.'  And  my  boy — I  used  to  think 
I  saw  him  looking  down  at  me,  and  asking  if  I  were 
a  murderer  .  .  .  and  stretching  out  his  arms — in 
vain." 

"  You  wish  to  see  him  again  ? " 

"  I'd  go  through  hell  to  see  him  again ! "  cried 
Gideon,  with  a  vehemence  at  which  Father  John 
involuntarily  raised  a  protesting  hand. 

But  he  saw  that  the  young  man  meant  no  harm 
by  it.  His  love  for  John  was  a  weapon  which  the 
good  priest  laid  hold  of  immediately  for  the  good 
of  Gideon's  soul. 


OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON.  211 

It  was  no  wonder  that  lie  expected  to  make  a 
convert.  But  the  time  was  not  ripe  for  the  discus- 
sion of  ecclesiastical  or  theological  points. 

Here  was  a  soul  in  pain ;  a  heart  rent  and 
broke ;  a  whole  nature  laid  waste  with  passion  and 
sorrow.  What  was  there  for  Father  John  to  do, 
but  to  speak  of  the  comfort  that  faith  can  give,  and 
the  love  of  Father  and  Son  for  suffering  humanity  ? 
It  was  the  first  time  that  Gideon  had  listened  to 
religious  teaching  since  he  was  a  boy.  And  there 
was  a  strange  revelation  to  him  of  love  and  sym- 
pathy in  the  exposition  of  One  who  suffered  all 
things  for  the  sake  of  man,  and  met  with  cruelty 
and  treachery  in  return.  He  caught  his  breath  as 
he  heard — was  it  not  really  for  the  first  time  ? — of 
"  that  stupendous  life  and  death,"  of  all  that  earth 
shuddered  at  and  heaven  grew  black  in  witnessing. 
What  did  it  mean  for  him — that  supreme  act  of 
abnegation  and  of  pity? 

The  priest  awoke  in  the  night  to  see  the  man  he 
had  saved  from  suicide  kneeling  at  the  foot  of  the 
crucifix,  outlined  blackly  on  the  whitewashed  wall, 
and  to  hear  the  sobs  that  shook  him  like  a  reed. 
He  was  wise  enough  to  say  nothing  and  lie  still. 


212  OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON. 

"  God  will  speak  to  him,"  said  the  good  priest 
to  himself,  controlling  the  hot  impatience  to  help 
which  tingled  in  his  veins.  "  My  words  may  do 
more  harm  than  good.  God  will  teach  him  in  His 
own  way." 

And  so  perhaps  He  did ;  but  it  was  not  in  the 
way  that  Father  John  expected. 

Gideon  was  up  and  dressed  next  day ;  he  was 
very  quiet,  almost  apathetic  in  manner,  and  seemed 
scarcely  to  understand  what  was  said  to  him  by  the 
little  community  of  Catholic  priests  who  had  taken 
him  in.  They  were  very  good  to  him.  Between 
themselves,  they  speculated  a  little  as  to  his  name 
and  station,  and  hinted  to  Father  John  that  lie 
should  he  brought  to  confession ;  but  Father  John 
shook  his  head  and  told  them  to  give  him  time.  Of 
course  he  was  a  heretic ;  but  a  heretic  with  a  curi- 
ous gift  (so  Father  John  thought)  of  assimilating 
what  he  was  taught,  even  although  he  might  have 
an  equally  curious  incapacity  for  expressing  it.  He 
sat  in  the  chapel  sometimes  with  a  look  of  entire 
absorption  on  his  face,  turned  to  the  big  crucifix 
that  hung  over  the  altar.  "  It  seems  as  if  I  had 
been  here  before,"  he  said  once,  when  Father  John 


OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON.  213 

spoke  to  him  about  his  liking  for  the  chapel.  And 
the  priest  wondered  whether  the  stranger  might  not 
some  day  take  up  his  lot  with  them  and  change 
from  carpenter  to  monk. 

But  one  day  Gideon  strolled  in  the  walled  gar- 
den which  lay  at  the  back  of  the  house,  and  heard 
the  voices  of  children  at  play  in  the  adjoining  play, 
ground.  The  Fathers  had  a  school  and  an  orphan- 
age, but  Gideon  had  not  as  yet  come  across  any  of 
the  pupils.  He  was  very  weak  after  his  illness, 
which  had  been  short  but  sharp ;  and  although  the 
priests  allowed  him  to  wander  about  the  house  and 
grounds  at  will,  he  had  taken  but  little  notice  of 
the  arrangements  of  the  place.  Now,  for  the  first 
time,  the  tuneful  laughter  of  children's  voices 
struck  upon  his  ear.  He  looked  for  a  gate,  found 
it,  and  stood  in  the  playground,  gazing  spell-bound 
at  the  noisy,  merry  groups.  These  were  the  younger 
boys — little  fellows  from  four  to  eight  or  ten  years 
of  age;  and  there  was  one  with  golden  hair  and 
dark  eyes,  who  recalled  vividly  to  Gideon's  mind 
the  image  of  the  boy  whom  he  had  lost.  Gideon 
felt  no  disposition,  however,  to  speak  to  the  child. 
He  only  looked  and  looked,  with  a  wealth  of  long- 


2 1 4:  OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON. 

ing  in  his  hungry  eyes.  And  when  the  children 
had  gone  back  to  school,  he  sat  down  on  a  bench 
and  thought. 

He  thought  of  Casterby.  For  the  first  time  he 
remembered  that  his  father  and  his  uncle  did  not 
know  what  had  become  of  him.  He  thought  of  his 
father's  steady  affection  for  him,  of  Uncle  Obed's 
absorption  in  him  and  his  boy.  What  was  the  old 
man  doing  without  him  now  ?  His  father  had  a 
wife  and  children,  but  Obed  had  nobody.  And 
for  the  first  time  it  came  home  dimly  enough  to 
Gideon  that  Obed  had  loved  him  as  he  had  loved 
John — with  the  same  blind,  adoring  love,  and  that 
he,  Gideon,  had  made  very  little  return  for  that  af- 
fection. He  had  been  friendlier  with  his  uncle 
than  with  anybody  else ;  but  he  had  never  shown 
what  he  felt,  it  had  not  been  his  way.  And  per- 
haps Uncle  Obed  was  enduring  a  share  of  the  pas- 
sionate yearning  for  a  beloved  face  which  Gideon 
himself  bore  when  he  thought  of  his  dead  son — the 
child  who  had  gone  to  a  far-away  heaven  whither 
the  father  sometimes  thought  that  he  should  "  never 
win." 

He  felt  in  his  pocket  for  his  purse.      It  was 


OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON.  215 

there  intact,  and  still  contained  three  pounds  in  gold 
and  some  silver.  He  laid  it  out  before  him  and 
considered  what  he  would  do  with  it. 

He  must  get  away.  He  must  go  back  to  Cas- 
terby.  So  much  was  clear  to  his  still  confused  and 
beclouded  mind.  He  had  no  wife,  no  child ;  but 
he  had  his  father  and  his  uncle  to  see.  It  was  not 
his  love  for  them  that  drew  him  home  again,  but 
the  consciousness  of  his  love  for  John.  Also  he 
wanted  to  see  John's  grave. 

For  the  mode  of  his  departure,  I  feel  that  ex- 
cuses must  be  offered.  He  left  the  priests  who  had 
been  so  good  to  him  without  saying  farewell.  The 
fact  was  that  his  mind  wTas  not  clear  enough  for  a 
true  appreciation  of  their  kindness  and  their  claims 
on  his  gratitude.  And  when,  months  afterwards, 
he  came,  as  it  were,  more  to  himself,  he  was  amazed 
and  horrified  to  find  that  he  did  not  know  the  name 
of  the  community  nor  the  part  of  London  in  which 
it  was  situated.  Probably  it  was  near  Hammer- 
smith, for  his  memories  of  trees  and  gardens,  and 
the  vicinity  of  the  river,  pointed  in  that  direc- 
tion ;  but  he  was  never  sure.  And  the  Fa- 
thers had  scarcely  known  his  name,  nor  the 


OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON. 

place  whence  lie  came  nor  his  circumstances,  and 
had  no  means  of  tracing  him  if  they  had  wished 
to  do  so. 

Before  lie  went  he  separated  two  sovereigns  and 
a  half  from  his  little  hoard,  and  wrapped  them  in  a 
piece  of  paper  on  which  he  wrote  a  few  words  to 
Father  John.  "I  am  obliged  to  go  home,"  he 
wrote.  "  I  thank  you  very  much  for  your  kindness 
to  me.  Perhaps  you  can  use  the  enclosed  for  some 
of  the  poor  people  you  know.  I  am  going  back  to 
my  own  people."  The  letter  was  simply  signed  by 
his  initials  and  addressed  to  Father  John.  lie  left 
it  with  the  porter  and  walked  away  along  the  road 
which  he  had  been  told  would  lead  to  the  heart  of 
London.  He  inquired  his  way  to  the  railway-sta- 
tion and  took  the  next  train  to  Casterby — all  in  the 
same  common-place,  spiritless  way,  and  as  if  nobody 
in  the  world  would  be  surprised  at  anything  he  had 
done. 

Father  John  read  the  letter  and  grieved  over  it. 
He  thought  that  he  had  aot  done  enough  for  the 
spiritual  benefit  of  his  protege".  It  was  the  nature 
of  the  man  to  blame  himself,  and  not  Gideon, 
atrainst  whom  some  of  the  other  inmates  of  the 


OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON.  217 

house  were  moved  to  considerable  wrath.  "  He 
might  have  told  us  something  about  himself  in- 
stead of  walking  off  in  this  way,"  they  said  be- 
tween themselves.  But  Father  John  lay  all  night 
long  before  the  altar,  praying  for  the  conversion  of 
Gideon's  soul,  and  for  the  forgiveness  of  that  fail- 
ure, that  weakness  on  his  own  part,  which  had 
caused  him  to  let  the  stranger's  soul  escape.  "  The 
blame  is  mine,"  said  the  young  priest  sadly,  as  he 
went  about  his  work  next  day  and  for  many  days 
thereafter.  And  he  prayed  that  another  chance 
might  be  given  him — another  day  or  hour  in  which 
he  might  plead  with  Gideon  to  give  himself  utterly 
and  entirely  to  a  better  life.  .  .  .  But  he  never  saw 
Gideon  again. 

It  seemed  very  strange  to  him  to  get  out  at  the 
well-known  little  country  station,  and  to  walk  down 
the  road,  with  its  green  bordering  of  grass,  to  the 
High  Street  and  the  Market  Place.  The  town 
struck  him  as  dwarfed  and  stunted.  But  it  was  not 
looking  its  best  on  that  November  evening,  with  a 
mist  rising  from  the  river  and  a  small  drizzling  rain 
steadily  falling  from  the  clouds.  Everything  looked 


218  OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON. 

damp  and  mildewed  and  desolate.     It  was  six  weeks 
since  Gideon  went  away. 

He  did  not  go  to  his  father's  first  of  all.  He 
thought  more  of  Obed,  perhaps,  than  of  his  father, 
and  he  went  to  Obed's  cottage  by  the  river.  He 
did  not  meet  anyone  who  recognised  him  on  his 
way.  As  he  turned  down  the  lane  he  noticed  that 
the  river  was  very  high,  and  that  the  meadows  were 
half  covered  with  water,  and  when  he  reached  the 
garden-gate  he  saw  that  even  the  house  had  been 
assailed  by  the  water.  It  was  the  one  drawback  to 
the  houses  by  the  river  that  they  were  sometimes 
visited  by  the  floods,  which  were  in  wet  autumns  a 
source  of  danger,  as  they  rose  very  rapidly  and  did 
considerable  damage  now  and  then.  The  garden- 
beds  seemed  to  have  been  almost  destroyed,  and  the 
water-mark  was  still  visible  on  the  walls  of  the 
house ;  but  evidently  the  place  had  not  been  aban- 
doned, for  there  was  a  light  in  one  of  the  upper 
windows,  and  at  sight  of  it  Gideon's  heart  throbbed 
with  a  new  feeling  of  affection  and — almost — of 

joy- 
He  knocked  at  the  door — knocked  twice  before 
any  answer  came.     At  last  the  upper  window  was 


OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON.  219 

opened  a  little  way,  and  Obed  Pilcher's  gray  head 
appeared. 

"  Who  be  ye  down  theer  ? "  he  asked. 

"  It's  me  —  Gideon.  Will  you  let  me  in, 
uncle  ? " 

"  Gideon ! "  The  old  man's  voice  rose  to  a 
shriek  of  joy.  "  Gideon !  Lad !  ah  thowt  thee 
mun  be  dead.  Wait  thee,  lad,  ah'm  coming — 
doan't  thee  go  away — ah've  but  to  unbolt  the  door. 
Thee'll  waait  ?  thee'll  waait  ? " 

"  Of  course  I'll  wait,  Uncle  Obed,"  said  Gideon, 
with  a  strange  new  gentleness  of  tone.  "  Don't 
hurry  thyself." 

But  in  another  minute  he  heard  the  old  man 
hobbling  downstairs  and  fumbling — probably  with 
trembling  hands — at  the  bolts  and  locks  of  the 
door.  When  it  was  opened,  and  Gideon  stepped 
inside,  he  found  himself  literally  in  his  uncle's 
arms. 

"  Lad,  lad !  Ah  thowt  thee  dead,  but  ah  knew 
that  if  thee  was  above  ground,  thee'd  come  back 
.  to  owd  Uncle  Obed." 

"  Did  you  think  me  dead,  uncle  ? " 

"Ay,   that   ah   did,   lad.      And   thou's   bin   at 


220  OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON. 

death's  door,  too,  as  ah  can  see  by  tha  faace  and 
eyes.  Cooin  away  in,  an'  ah'll  get  on  my  clothes 
and  mak'  up  t'  fire  for  tha :  coom  awaay." 

"  Where's  Keziah  ? "  said  Gideon,  following  his 
uncle  to  the  kitchen. 

"(ione,  lad — gone.  Ah  didn't  want  no  wim- 
inin  foalk  about  me;  ah  can  fend  an'  fettle  for 
mysel'." 

u  AVe'll  see  about  that,"  said  Gideon,  with  a 
touch  of  the  old  masterfulness,  subdued,  however, 
into  a  kindlier  tone.  "  Go  and  get  into  your 
clothes,  and  leave  the  fire  to  me.  Or  get  back  to 
bed,  and  I'll  come  upstairs  with  you." 

But  his  uncle  would  not  agree  to  the  latter 
proposition.  Gideon  was  cold  and  wet,  and  must 
have  something  to  eat  and  drink.  So  Gideon  set 
to  work  to  blow  the  embers  of  the  fire  into  a  blaze, 
and  by  the  time  old  Obed  came  downstairs  again 
in  all  the  glory  of  his  Sunday  suit,  there  was  a 
ruddy  glow  on  the  kitchen  walls,  and  on  the  red- 
brick floor,  with  the  rag  carpet  before  the  fender, 
and  the  kettle  was  already  beginning  to  sing  in  a 
homelike,  comfortable  way.  Gideon  stood  by  the 
hearth,  staring  into  the  flames.  The  room  might 


OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON.  221 

look  cheery  enough,  but  where  were  they  gone  who 
used  to  make  the  brightness  of  the  house  ? 

Uncle  Obed  came  up  and  shook  him  by  the 
hand.  He  had  not  much  to  say,  but  it  relieved  his 
feelings  to  work  Gideon's  arm  up  and  down  like  a 
pump-handle.  Then  he  suggested  that  his  "  lad  " 
should  go  upstairs  and  change  his  wet  clothes  while 
tea  was  being  made. 

"Thee'll  find  all  tlia  things  as  thee  left  'em," 
he  said. 

Gideon  said  nothing,  but  went  stolidly  up  to  his 
own  room.  Obed  bustled  about  the  kitchen,  set- 
ting out  crockery  and  food;  he  heard  Gideon's 
steps  in  the  room  above  him  at  first,  then  he 
became  aware  that  they  had  ceased.  The  meal  was 
ready,  but  Gideon  did  not  come,  and  all  was  silent 
overhead. 

"  Coom,  Gid,  supper's  ready,"  said  Obed,  in  a 
cheerful  voice,  as  he  stumped  upstairs.  But  no 
answer  came. 

The  door  of  the  bedroom  was  wide  open,  and 
the  candle  was  flaring,  for  Gideon  had  placed  the 
tin  candlestick  down  on  the  chest  of  drawers  and 

left  it  in  the  draught.     It  was  a  pretty  little  room, 
15 


222  OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON. 

decorated  in  Emmy's  taste  with  a  good  many  pink 
ribbons  and  much  white  muslin ;  but  it  looked 
spotlessly  clean  and  fresh.  John's  little  empty  cot 
stood  between  the  big  white-curtained  bed  and  the 
wall.  And  Gideon  had  dropped  down  on  his  knees 
and  hidden  his  face  on  the  white  counterpane  of 
the  bed,  with  his  hands  stretched  out  before  him, 
clenched  together — in  prayer  or  agony  ? 

"  Lord  forgi'e  me,"  muttered  Obed  to  himself. 
"  And  ah  sent  him  up  here  all  alone." 

He  stood  within  the  doorway,  not  daring  to 
speak  or  move,  not  knowing  whether  to  stay  or  to 
go.  Gideon  was  perfectly  still ;  it  was  his  motion- 
lessness  that  struck  terror  to  Obed's  heart. 

But  after  a  time  he  stirred.  He  lifted  his  head, 
drew  back  his  hands,  and  rose.  There  was  a  look 
on  his  face  which  Obed  had  never  seen  before — 
the  expression  of  one  whose  renunciation  is  com- 
plete. In  some  vague  fashion,  Obed  Pilcher  knew 
from  that  moment  that  his  nephew  was  an  altered 
man. 

"  Is  that  you,  Uncle  Obed  ?  "  said  Gideon,  quite 
quietly.  "  I  won't  keep  you  waiting  more  than  a 
moment.  I'll  come  directly." 


OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON.  223 

Then  lie  turned  to  the  chest  of  drawers  and 
began  to  take  out  some  clothes.  He  had  not  yet 
begun  to  change. 

"  I'll  use  Keziah's  old  room,"  he  said. 

And  he  betook  himself  to  that  small  apartment 
immediately.  Obed  did  not  venture  to  protest. 
And  in  perfect  silence  Gideon  next  day  removed 
all  his  belongings  to  the  servant's  former  abode, 
and  his  uncle  knew,  as  well  as  if  he  had  been 
told  Jn  words,  that  the  room  which  Emmy  and 
John  had  occupied  was  to  be  left  untouched,  un- 
tenanted. 

Gideon  came  down  to  supper  with  a  grave, 
unmoved  countenance,  and  spoke  very  little,  but 
his  manner  to  his  uncle  was,  for  him,  curiously 
gentle.  Obed  poured  out  all  the  news  of  the  town, 
but  seduously  refrained  from  asking  questions,  at 
any  rate  for  a  time.  Questions  came  later,  but  the 
first  thing  was  to  make  Gideon  eat  his  supper. 

"  Is  father  well  ?  "  said  the  young  man,  as  they 
sat  by  the  kitchen  fire  after  supper. 

Obed  smoked  a  long  clay;  but  Gideon,  with 
his  hands  plunged  in  his  pockets,  had  declined  a 
pipe. 


924:  OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON. 

"  Eh  ?  Thou'st  not  seen  him  ?  Ay,  he's  mid- 
<11  in',  but  he's  fretted  above  a  bit  about  thee, 
Gideon." 

"  It's  too  late  to  go  and  see  him  to-night,"  said 
Gideon,  looking  up  at  the  clock. 

"  Well,  mebbe.  He  looks  kind  o'  pined,  thee'lt 
see.  And  wheer  hast  been,  Gid,  all  this  long 
while?" 

"  I've  been  in  London,"  said  Gideon,  with  his 
eyes  fixed  on  the  fire. 

"  Not — not — in  prison,  lad  ?  "  asked  the  old 
man  tremulously,  with  one  deep-veined  old  hand 
laid  heavily  on  Gideon's  arm. 

"  Prison  ?  No,"  answered  Gideon  in  astonish- 
men.  "  I've  been  ill,  or  I  should  have  come  home 
sooner.  13ut  why  prison  ? " 

"  Ah  thowt,"  said  Uncle  Obed  in  borne  confu- 
sion, "  that  they  might  ha'  tooken  thee  there  for 
threshin'  that  man.  "We  heerd  tell  as  he  was  found 
somewheers  down  by  t'  river  with  his  head  stove  in, 
and  though  it  didn't  say  i'  th'  paaper  who  did  it,  we 
all  knew  as  it  was  thee." 

"  Ay,  you  were  right,"  said  Gideon  heavily. 
Thou  came  a  long  pause.  "  I  well-nigh  killed  him," 


OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON.  225 

he  continued  at  length  in  trembling  tones.  "  I  did 
my  best.  I  should  have  been  a  murderer,  Uncle 
Obed,  if  I'd  succeeded.  If  I'd  had  blood  upon  my 
hand,  would  you  have  been  so  ready  to  take  me 
in?" 

"  Ay,  that  I  would,  lad,"  cried  the  old  man  ex- 
citedly. "  And  would  ha'  shook  the  hand  as  did  it, 
too.  There's  not  a  jury  in  the  land  as  would  con- 
vict thee  for  an  act  of  justice  like  to  that." 

"You're  a  Christian,  Uncle  Obed;  you  go  to 
church,"  said  the  young  man  inexorably.  He  had 
folded  his  arms  on  his  breast,  and  his  face  was  very 
stern  and  pale.  "How  can  you  tell  me  that  it 
would  be  an  act  of  justice  to  commit  murder  ? 
"Whatever  it  might  be  in  a  jury's  eyes,  you've  got  to 
consider  what  it  would  be  in  the  eyes  of — God." 

He  said  the  last  words  solemnly,  the  muscles  in 
his  cheek  flinching  as  he  did  so,  the  only  sign  of 
effort  that  he  showed.  Obed  sat  amazed,  staring  at 
him. 

"Lad,"  he  said  at  last,  almost  letting  his  pipe 
slip  to  the  ground  in  his  astonishment,  and  speaking 
very  slowly — "  lad,  hast  got  religion  while  thou'st 
been  away  ? " 


22  G  OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Gideon.  And  then  they 
sat  in  silence  for  a  little  while. 

u  "Well,  well !  "  exclaimed  Uncle  Obed  at  last,  in 
a  high -pitched,  querulous  voice,  "  it's  the  fust  time 
T  my  life  as  ah've  bin  towd  ah  was  not  a  Christian. 
Ah've  been  clerk  this  fowty  year,  an'  no  one  ever 
said  that  to  me  afore.  An'  all  because  ah  spoke  as 
the  nat'ral  man  'ud  speak,  ah  taakes  it :  because  it 
seems  a  deal  more  proper  that  a  man  should  foight 
the  man  as  has  maiide  his  wife  a — 

"  Stop  that !  "  said  Gideon  fiercely.  "  I  won't 
have  her  called  names.  As  to  the  man — I  did  fight 
him,  as  you  say,  and  well-nigh  killed  him  :  isn't 
that  enough  for  you  ?  Did  you  want  to  see  me  on 
the  gallows  first,  and  damned  to  hell  afterwards  ? " 

"  Nay,  nay,  lad — nay.  Doan't  talk  i'  that  fash- 
ion. Ainu  not  such  a  domned  fool  as  that  coomes 
to.  Thou'rt  right  eno'.  Me  parish  clerk,  an'  preach 
murder  ?  Why,  no !  An'  I'm  downright  thankful 
to  see  thee  back,  saiife  an'  sound  ;  an'  thee  mustn't 
mind  an'  owd  man's  tongue,  Gideon,  nor  catch'n 
up  so  fast." 

"  I'm  a  fool  myself,  and  a  brute  to  say  a  hard 
word  to  you,"  said  the  young  man  starting  up,  with 


OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON.  227 

a  flush  on  his  face.  "  Forgive  me,  uncle.  Don't 
think  worse  of  me  than  you  can  help,"  he  said, 
standing  with  one  hand  on  his  uncle's  shoulder,  so 
that  the  old  man  could  not  see  his  face.  "  I've 
had  a  good  bit  to  bear,  you  know,  and  sometimes 
I've  been  almost  beside  myself  —  with  —  with 
trouble.  Else,  I  shouldn't  have  stayed  away  so 
long.  It  was  the  thought  of  you,  and — the  boy, 
that  brought  me  back.  You  shan't  lose  me — as  I 
lost  him" 

The  pauses  between  the  words  made  them 
doubly  significant.  Obed  Pilcher  understood  much 
more  than  Gideon  could  say.  "  God  bless  thee,  lad, 
for  coming  back !  "  he  said  in  a  hoarse  undertone. 

"  I'll  not  leave  you  again,  uncle,"  said  Gideon,  in 
a  firmer  voice. 


IX. 

:  Wcr  nic  sein  Brod  mit  ThrSnen  ass- 


TIIE  news  of  Gideon's  return  soon  spread  far 
and  wide.  Between  six  and  seven  in  the  morning 
lie  was  back  at  the  yard,  beginning  his  usual  day's 
work.  His  father  met  him  witli  a  close  clasp  of 
the  hand  and  a  long  examining  look,  but  he  asked 
no  questions,  and  it  was  not  until  the  two  were 
alone  together,  later  in  the  day,  that  Gideon  said  an 
explanatory  word. 

"  I  was  ill  in  London.  I  wish  I  had  written, 
but  everything  seemed  to  go  out  of  my  head.  I 
never  thought  of  it." 

Joseph  Blake  nodded.  He  was  looking  worn 
and  gray,  but  he  had  not  the  heart  to  reproach 
his  son. 

"  Did  you  see — her  ? "  he  asked  in  a  low  voice. 

"  Once,"  said  Gideon,  turning  away  his  face. 

The  father  asked  no  more  questions.     He,  too, 

228 


OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON.  229 

had  heard  of  the  mysterious  attack  on  Captain 
Hamilton  in  London,  and  believed  that  Gideon  had 
been  the  assailant ;  but  as  Hamilton  himself  had 
refused  to  give  information,  and  evidently  wished 
it  to  be  thought  that  he  had  simply  been  knocked 
on  the  head  by  a  pickpocket,  no  public  accusation 
had  been  made.  Joseph  Blake  was  the  last  man 
to  ask  Gideon  painful  or  unnecessary  questions,  and 
he  tried  to  shut  the  mouths  of  his  wife  and  daugh- 
ter, but  could  not  succeed.  Where  he  failed,  how- 
ever, Gideon  succeeded  by  a  sudden  frown,  a  flash 
of  his  eyes,  and  a  single  word.  It  became  under- 
stood in  the  family  and  in  the  town  that  Gideon 
was  not  to  be  questioned  about  his  own  private 
affairs. 

What  was  he  going  to  do  next  ?  the  townspeople 
queried.  They  expected  him  to  take  to  evil  courses, 
now  that  his  wife  had  left  him  and  his  child  was 
dead.  There  was  nothing,  they  said,  to  hold  him 
back.  He  had  always  been  a  wild  one  at  heart, 
and  he  would,  no  doubt,  plunge  headlong  into 
excess  and  drink  himself  to  death.  "And  there's 
every  excuse  for  him,"  they  said,  with  a  pleased 
sense  of  assisting  at  a  tragedy.  It  would  round 


230  OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON. 

<tff  the  story  so  completely,  to  be  able  to  say  that 
utlie  poor  young  man  never  got  over  it,  and  died 
of  delirium  tremens  six  months  after  his  wife 
doped," — so  completely  and  artistically,  indeed, 
that  Casterby  waited  with  actual  impatience  to  see 
the  final  act  begun. 

But  Gideon  disappointed  the  Casterby  people. 
It  might  be  true  to  say  that  "he  never  got  over  it" 
—he  never  would  get  over  it  as  long  as  he  lived — 
but  lie  showed  no  signs  of  taking  to  strong  drink  in 
consequence.  On  the  contrary,  it  was  rumoured 
that  he  had  become  a  teetotaler  (which  was  not 
true),  and  that  he  did  not  even  smoke.  lie  took  up 
his  abode  once  more  with  Uncle  Obed,  and  could 
not  be  drawn  from  his  lair  by  any  attraction  in  the 
way  of  tea-parties.  lie  and  Obed  led  a  very  se- 
cluded life.  Tu>  servant-girl  replaced  Keziah ;  the 
two  men  lived  alone,  and  Gideon  did  most  of  the 
work  in  the  early  mornings  or  late  at  night.  Obed 
1'ilcher  was  growing  too  rheumatic  and  infirm  to 
move  about  very  much,  and  even  spoke  of  relin- 
quishing his  duties  as  parish  clerk.  Gideon  cooked 
his  meals  for  him,  made  the  fires,  chopped  wood, 
and  scrubbed  floors  like  a  veritable  slave.  His  step- 


OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON.  231 

mother  was  scandalized  at  seeing  him  engaged  in 
such  menial  work. 

"  It  really  isn't  respectable ;  you  should  have  a 
servant.  It  looks  as  if  your  own  father  didn't  pay 
you  properly,"  she  declared. 

"  I'd  sooner  do  it  myself,  if  father  doesn't 
mind,"  said  Gideon  in  his  deliberate  way. 

He  was  a  great  deal  more  deliberate  than  he 
used  to  be,  and  very  silent — even  with  Uncle  Obed. 
Only  when  they  were  alone  in  the  evenings,  and 
Obed  was  smoking,  Gideon  would  reach  down  a 
book  and  read  aloud  in  the  loud,  monotonous  voice 
that  Obed  loved  to  hear. 

The  reading  was  of  a  serious  turn.  They  had 
once  tried  a  novel — one  of  Emmy's  brightly-bound 
volumes  from  the  parlour  shelves — but  neither  of 
them  could  stand  the  love-making  scenes.  Obed 
growled  and  pronounced  them  rubbish;  Gideon 
stopped  one  night  in  the  middle  of  one,  and  put  the 
book  back  in  its  place  with  a  nauseated  air.  They 
fell  back  upon  standard  books  of  travel  and  history, 
which  Gideon  procured  from  the  town  library,  and 
they  read  the  Bible  a  good  deal.  It  was  quite  a 
new  book  to  Gideon.  On  some  evenings  he  cared 


232  OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON. 

to  read  nothing  else.  Then  the  "  Pilgrim's  Prog- 
ress," which  he  had  kept  so  long  unread,  fascinated 
him  completely.  Old  Obed  knew  it  pretty  well, 
an  1  patronized  it  as  the  work  of  a  man  who  did  not 
1)  -long  to  the  Church ;  but  it  gained  a  new  charm 
to  him  when  he  heard  it  from  Gideon's  lips. 

In  the  daytime  the  young  man  did  his  work 
soberly  and  seriously,  without  smiles,  but  also  with- 
out the  sullenness  with  wliich  he  had  formerly  been 
credited.  His  fellow-workmen  did  not  know  what 
to  make  of  him.  He  had  never  been  hail-fellow- 
well-met  with  them,  but  he  had  been  in  many 
respects  as  other  men  :  ready  for  a  drink,  for  a  jest, 
sometimes  for  a  blow.  Now  all  this  was  changed. 
He  was  almost  always  silent ;  he  neither  drank  nor 
jested  ;  and  he  worked  as  if  he  had  no  other  interest 
in  the  world.  What  depths  of  feeling  underlay  the 
stern  quietude  of  his  demeanour,  nobody  guessed, 
unless  it  were  Uncle  Obed  or  his  father,  Joseph 
Blake. 

After   working-hours,  he  devoted   himself  en 
tirely  to   Obed.     But  the  old  man  was  very  frail, 
and  never  recovered  from  the  shocks  which  little 
John's   death,   Emmy's   flight,  and   Gideon's  sub- 


OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON.  233 

sequent  disappearance  had  inflicted  upon  him. 
When  the  cold  and  dreary  winter  was  over,  and  the 
crocuses  were  just  beginning  to  lift  up  their  golden 
and  purple  heads  in  the  garden,  Uncle  Obed  failed 
rapidly,  and  before  Easter  was  gone.  He  slipped 
away  in  his  sleep  while  Gideon  was  reading  to  him 
one  night  from  the  Gospel  of  St.  John. 

"  Poor  fellow,  he's  left  all  alone  now,"  said  the 
kindly,  if  somewhat  careless,  old  Rector  to  his 
curate  on  the  day  after  Obed's  funeral.  "  You 
might  go  and  see  him,  Crewe ;  he  seems  a  steady 
sort  of  young  man.  Perhaps  he  would  like  to  be 
asked  to  teach  in  the  Sunday-school." 

Mr.  Crewe  went  on  his  mission,  and  was  civilly 
received,  but  he  wished  afterwards  that  he  had  not 
taken  the  Rector's  hint  and  spoken  about  the 
school ;  for  his  proposition  was  received  in  a  some- 
what singular  way. 

"  Teach ! "  said  Gideon,  with  a  short,  sharp 
laugh.  "  Do  you  know  whom  you're  asking  ?  Do 
you  know  that  I  nearly  killed  a  man  not  long  ago, 
and  tried  to  commit  suicide  directly  afterwards  ? 
Is  that  the  sort  of  teacher  the  Rector  would  like  in 
his  schools  ? " 


OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON. 

Mr.  Crewe  was  not  a  ready  speaker,  and  stam- 
mered out  something  incoherent  to  the  effect  that 
Gideon's  mind  had  probably  been  unhinged  jnst  at 
that  time  by  his  great  troubles. 

"  Xay,"  said  Gideon,  looking  at  him  with  his 
dark,  sorrowful  eyes,  which  Mr.  Crewe  had  some 
difficulty  in  forgetting  when  he  got  outside  the 
house  ;  "  don't  you  believe  it,  sir.  It's  the  fashion 
to  say  a  man's  out  of  his  mind  when  he  tries  to  kill 
himself,  or  even  when  he  kills  another  man  ;  but  it 
isn't  always  true.  It  wasn't  true  with  me.  I 
knew  what  I  was  doing  well  enough.  The  devil 
had  possession  of  me,  body  and  soul.  I  hope  he's 
been  driven  out.  But  God  knows  I'm  not  fit  to 
teach  religion  to  innocent  little  children  ;  they're 
much  more  likely  to  be  able  to  teach  me." 

"  Anyone  who  feels  as  deeply  on  these  subjects 
as  you  do — 

"  I  don't  feel  anything  in  particular,"  said 
Gideon.  "  I  only  know  the  facts.  I'm  not  fit  to 
teach  anybody — that  is  all ;  I  only  wish  I  were." 

"  You  come  to  church,  don't  you  ? "  said  Mr. 
Crewe,  whom  Gideon  puzzled  exceedingly. 

"  Yes,"  said  Gideon  slowly,  "  I  come  to  church  ; 


OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON.  235 

and — if  I  may  say  a  word — it  seems  to  me  we  don't 
get  enough  said  to  us  about  the  evil  in  our  own 
hearts,  Mr.  Crewe.  Perhaps  if  we'd  heard  more 
about  it,  some  of  us  might  have — understood  with- 
out such — such  hard  lessons." 

His  voice  broke  suddenly.  He  had  said  more 
than  he  had  meant  to  say,  and  was  ashamed  of  it, 
with  the  natural  recoil  on  itself  of  a  reserved  na- 
ture ;  and  also  he  thought  of  Emmy.  She  had  once 
played  at  being  a  teacher  in  the  school  over  which 
Mr.  Crewe  presided  on  Sunday  afternoons.  What 
good  had  come  of  her  teaching,  he  wondered,  to 
teacher  or  to  taught  ? 

Mr.  Crewe  retired  from  the  scene,  half  of- 
fended, half  confused ;  but  he  was  a  man  of  con- 
siderable sincerity,  and  he  said,  long  afterwards, 
that  nobody  had  ever  influenced  his  sermons  more 
than  Gideon  Blake.  He  fell  into  the  way  of 
preaching  to  the  melancholy  dark  eyes  that  haunted 
him  from  a  corner  of  the  dim  old  church ;  and  if 
by  chance  he  made  them  light  up,  he  went  home 
with  a  warmer  feeling  at  his  heart.  He  had  helped 
one  of  his  hearers,  at  least ;  he  had  spoken  to  one 
person  who  cared  to  understand. 


236  OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON. 

Gideon's  own  ideas  were  very  indistinct  at  this 
time.  lie  could  not  shake  off  a  terrible  depression, 
a  horrible  sense  of  wrong-doing  and  misery,  which 
made  life  a  burden.  He  prayed  for  help  and  com- 
fort as  he  had  seen  others  pray ;  but  prayer 
brought  him  no  relief.  He  was  as  one  wandering 
in  the  dark,  with  nobody  to  show  him  the  way. 

On  Easter  Sunday,  it  occurred  to  him  to  walk 
to  the  cemetery  and  see  the  graves  of  his  uncle  and 
his  little  son.  He  chose  an  hour  when  he  thought 
that  few  visitors  were  likely  to  be  there,  and  he  was 
relieved  to  see  that  the  cemetery  looked  almost 
deserted,  although  it  was  quite  a  popular  place  of 
r;  >s<  >rt  on  Sunday  afternoons.  One  solitary  woman's 
ii^ure  in  black  could  be  seen  at  some  little  distance 
from  the  spot  which  Gideon  wished  to  visit,  and 
that  was  all. 

Someone  had  been  before  him.  The  graves 
were  strewn  with  white  flowers,  placed  in  the  form 
of  a  cross  on  each  green  mound.  Gideon  won- 
tlered,  and  thought  that  perhaps  Carry  was  kinder 
than  she  seemed.  But  these  flowers  were  more 
beautiful  than  any  that  grew  in  Casterby  gardens. 

As  he  mused  and   marvelled,  feeling   vaguely 


OUT  OF   DUE  SEASON.  237 

soothed  by  their  sweetness,  the  quiet  figure  in  black 
passed  by  him,  paused,  and  passed  again.  He 
raised  his  eyes ;  they  fell  on  the  pale,  sweet  face  of 
the  woman  who  had  once  been  George  Hamilton's 
betrothed — who  had  been  almost  as  much  wronged 
by  him  as  Gideon  himself  had  been.  He  started, 
and  felt  his  face  grow  hot,  and  hoped,  with  a  dull 
anger  at  his  heart,  that  she  would  walk  on  without 
speaking  to  him ;  but,  instead  of  that,  she  came 
nearer,  and  stood  on  the  other  side  of  John's  little 
green  grave. 

"  May  I  speak  to  you  ?  "  she  said,  in  that  sweet 
voice  which  still  had  the  power  of  thrilling 
Gideon's  nerves. 

Gideon  hastily  and  nervously  raised  his  hat,  but 
he  could  not  speak  Her  presence  recalled  some 
cruel  memories. 

"  I  came  here  to  say  good-bye ;  it  is  for  the  last 
time,"  said  Frances  Lisle.  "  I  wanted  very  much 
to  see  you  before  I  went  away.  I  think  God  must 
have  sent  you  in  answer  to  my  prayers/' 

"  You  are  going  away  ?  "  said  Gideon,  stupidly 
enough. 

"  Yes ;    I   am   going  to  Belgium."     Her  eyes, 
16 


238  OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON. 

wistfully  sweet,  wandered  to  the  furthest  limit  of 
the  horizon,  and  remained  fixed  for  a  few  minutes 
on  the  distant  line  of  low-lying  purple  hills.  "  I 
am  going  to  be  a  nun." 

"  A  nun  ? "  said  Gideon,  starting  back  with 
the  horror  he  had  been  taught  to  feel  for 
women's  religious  houses.  "  Why  should  you  be 
a  mm  ?" 

"  Why  not  ? "  she  said,  her  eyes  coming  back  to 
his  face  with  a  gentle,  serious  look.  "It  is  the 
most  beautiful  life.  But  I  know  you  do  not  under- 
stand. Only  I  shall  never,  most  likely,  see  you 
again ;  and  I  wanted  so  much  to  say  one  thing  to 
you  before  I  went.  May  I  say  it  now  ?  " 
"  Yes — anything." 

ik  That  is  kind.  It  is  not  much  that  I  have  to 
say,  but  it  is  hard  to  say  it,  too.  Mr.  Blake — some 
day  you  may  be  asked  to  forgive  those  who  have — 
who  have  wronged  you— 

"Forgive!"  cried  Gideon.  There  was  passion 
in  his  tone. 

"  I  was  wronged,  too.  I  have  forgiven,"  she 
said,  looking  him  full  in  the  face  with  her  great 
gray  eyes.  He  noticed  how  large  they  looked,  how 


OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON".  239 

small  and  pathetic  was  the  worn,  white  face,  how 
patient  the  droop  of  her  sweet  curved  lips,  and  he 
knew  that  even  his  suffering  had  not  been  bitterer 
than  hers.  "  That  is  partly  why  I  am  going  into  a 
convent.  I  hope  to  pray  for  him  there — to  pray 
for  his  soul." 

Gideon  was  silent ;  it  was  not  possible  for  him, 
he  told  himself,  to  understand. 

"  We  can  forgive  in  different  ways,"  said  Fran- 
ces, catching  at  the  reason  for  his  silence.  "  I  in 
my  own  way,  you  in  yours.  But  some  day  you 
must — you  must " 

"  I  shall  not  hurt  him  again,  if  you  mean  that," 
said  Gideon  in  measured  tones.  "  I  tried  to  punish 
him  once ;  he  is  safe  from  that  now.  I  know  very 
well  that  if  I  had  killed  him  I  should  have  been  a 
miserable  man." 

"  But  more  than  that  is  necessary,"  said  the  girl, 
in  a  strangely  moved  voice.  "When  I  laid  those 
flowers  on  your  little  boy's  grave,  I  prayed  that  I 
might  see  you  again,  but  not  that  I  might  plead 
with  you  for  George  Hamilton's  life  !  I  knew  that 
was  safe.  I  want  more  than  that — for  your  boy's 
sake,  and  because  you  hope  to  see  him  again  one 


240  OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON. 

day.     Yon  do  not  belong  to  the  Church,  but  you 
hope — you  want  to  see  your  boy  again  ? " 

"  God  knows—  '  Gideon  began,  and  then 
stopped  short.  He  could  not  go  on. 

"I  plead  for  John's  sake,  then,"  said  Frances 
Lisle.  "  And  I  plead  for  God's  sake,  Who  cannot 
forgive  us  if  we  do  not  forgive.  You  remember 
what  our  dear  Lord  said  upon  the  cross  ?  '  For- 
give them,  for  they  know  not  what  they  do.' 
That  is  what  I  say  every  day,  every  hour  of  my 
life :  '  They  know  not  what  they  do ;  forgive  them, 
Lord,  as  we — as  we — forgive.' ': 

"  They  are  safe — from  me,"  said  Gideon,  and 
turned  away  his  face. 

"  Are  they  safe  from  your  hatred — from  your 
bitterness  of  heart  ?  Oh,  I  know  how  hard  it  is ! 
I  have  no  right  to  speak.  But  if  one  could  turn 
one's  own  pain  into  an  atonement  for  their  sin ;  if 
one  could  weep  for  them  and  pray  for  them  until 
their  hearts  were  touched,  they  knew  not  why,  and 
they  turned  to  God  and  asked*  Him  for  that  for- 
giveness which  He  never  grudges  to  those  that  ask 
— then  would  not  even  our  grief  and  suffering  have 
been  a  paradise  ?  The  greater  the  suffering  for  us, 


OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON.  241 

the  greater  the  grace  for  them ! "  cried  Frances,  her 
face  shining  with  the  ecstasy  of  a  vision  that  she 
deemed  divine. 

"  Could  that  happen  ? "  said  Gideon,  half  sadly, 
half  sceptically.  "  I  have  read  that  no  man  can 
give  his  soul  for  another,  or  make  atonement  to 
God  for  him." 

"  But  you  would  do  it  if  you  could  for  one  you 
loved  ? "  said  the  girl,  in  a  hushed  voice. 

"  Ay,  if  I  could,"  said  Gideon,  looking  down  at 
the  flowers  on  John's  grave. 

"  That  is  forgiveness,"  said  Frances.  She  held 
out  her  hand.  "  I  must  go  now.  They  are  wait- 
ing for  me  at  the  gate.  Good-bye,  Mr.  Blake.  I 
shall  always  remember  you — and  those  that  you 
love.  And  in  your  heart  you  have  forgiven — or 
will  forgive ;  I  am  quite  sure  of  that." 

Gideon  held  her  hand  for  a  moment,  but  he 
could  not  say  good-bye.  He  watched  her  down 
the  pathway  until  she  was  out  of  sight;  then  he 
knelt  down  by  his  boy's  grave. 

She  did  not  know  it,  but  she  had  transfigured 

'  O 

the  world  for  him.  Into  his  empty  heart  she  had 
put  a  living  seed.  Forgiveness,  prayer — were  these 


242  OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON. 

such  mighty  forces  ?  Then  he  had  something  to 
live  for  still ;  he  could  love  and  forgive  and  pray. 

There  came  back  to  him  the  history  that  he  had 
heard  read  out  in  church  on  Good  Friday ;  he  had 
not  been  touched  by  it  then,  he  remembered,  but  it 
touched  him  now.  The  Man  of  Sorrows  who  hung 
bleeding  and  naked  on  a  Cross,  jeered  at  by  the 
people  whom  He  died  to  save,  could  still  say, 
14  Father,  forgive  them,  for  they  know  not  what 
they  do."  He  was  the  Great  Example :  could  not 
even  His  humblest  follower  do  something  of  the 
same  kind  I 

Gideon's  mind  was  very  simple,  very  literal,  in 
some  ways.  The  thing  that  seemed  tme  to  him 
must  be  put  into  action  if  it  were  to  continue  true, 
lie  could,  after  a  great  struggle  of  heart,  after  an 
agonizing  conflict  between  his  natural  emotions  and 
his  will,  say  to  himself  that  he  forgave  his  erring 
wife,  and  even,  in  some  sense,  the  man  who  had 
led  her  astray ;  but  how  could  that  forgiveness  be 
brought  into  action  in  his  daily  life  ?  He  could  not 
seek  Emmy  out  and  beg  her  to  return  to  him ;  his 
common-sense  told  him  that  this  mode  of  behaviour 
would  be  impracticable.  She  had  gone  abroad ; 


OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON.  243 

slie  was  probably  happy  in  the  evil  of  her  life — 
triumphing,  perhaps,  in  the  way  in  which  her  hus- 
band had  been  befooled.  He  could  do  nothing 
directly  for  her  benefit. 

But — "  to  turn  one's  pain  into  an  atonement  for 
their  sin "  !  to  pray  until  the  sinners  were  forced 
into  repentance  !  Could  this  be  done  ?  Ah,  it  was 
worth  trying,  thought  Gideon,  with  a  great  break  - 
ing-up  of  all  the  fountains  of  his  soul :  for  what 
harm  would  it  do  even  if  it  were  worthless  ? — and 
if  it  should  avail  anything — ah,  what  infinite  gain ! 

His  religious  views,  his  notions  of  heaven  and 
hell,  were  what  the  modern  world  agrees  to  call 
primitive  and  crude.  He  believed  in  a  material 
hell,  to  which  he  saw  himself  hastening  in  the  past, 
arrested  by  something  like  a  miracle  upon  its  very 
brink,  whither  Emmy  was  hastening  now.  Could 
he  stop  her  ?  Could  he  by  any  exertion,  any  sacri- 
fice, save  her  from  the  fires  of  hell  ?  Nothing 
would  be  too  hard  for  him  to  do,  if  only  he  could 
"  touch  the  arm  that  moves  the  world  "  and  bring 
its  exquisite,  irresistible,  compelling  power  to  bear 
on  Emmy's  heart.  Emmy's  frivolous  little  prefer- 
ences, Emmy's  hard  little  personality,  were  for- 


i>±4  OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON. 

gotten,  absorbed  in  a  great  rush  of  love  for  what 
lay  behind  the  shell-like  exterior.  A  soul  to  be 
saved — a  beautiful,  precious,  immortal  soul :  Emmy 
was  that,  and  Gideon  could  not  hate  and  despise 
her  any  more,  although  she  had  betrayed  him,  and 
outraged  her  womanhood,  and  tlirown  away  her 
woman's  purity. 

The  thought  that  he  could  help  her  changed  his 
life.  It  became  henceforth,  most  emphatically,  a- 
life  made  up  of  prayer.  It  had  already  been  the 
life  of  an  anchorite.  Now,  as  soon  as  his  work 
was  over,  Gideon  hastened  to  shut  himself  up  in 
his  lonely  house  and  expend  the  long  hours  in  sup- 
plication for  Emmy's  soul.  A  roughly -fashioned 
crucifix  hung  on  the  wall  in  the  bare  room  he  occu- 
pied. On  the  floor  before  it  he  knelt  or  lay  for 
hours,  praying  with  tears  and  cries  that  Emmy 
might  be  saved  from  the  evil  to  come.  Thence  it 
was  a  short  step  to  more  stringent  and  more  pain- 
ful measures.  The  passion  of  penance  took  posses- 
sion of  his  soul — for  his  own  sins  partly,  but  chiefly 
for  those  of  the  woman  that  he  loved.  And  for 
her  sake  he  suffered  hi  the  flesh  as  in  the  spirit — 
for  Emmy's  sin. 


OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON.  245 

The  world  would  have  called  him  mad.  His 
own  little  world  of  sordid  commercialism;  the 
Rector's  comfortable,  easy-going  Christianity ;  the 
would-be  intellectualism  of  the  Unitarian  meeting- 
house— all  would  have  joined  in  condemning  him. 
Perhaps  even  Father  O'Brien,  with  whom,  although 
he  did  not  know  it,  Gideon  was  most  in  sympathy, 
would  have  shaken  his  head  dubiously  over  the 
young  man's  vagaries.  "  For  it  is  not,"  as  Thomas 
11  Kempis  says,  "  it  is  not  after  the  way  of  man — to 
fly  honours,  to  be  willing  to  suffer  reproaches,  to 
despise  self  and  choose  to  be  despised,  and  to  desire 
no  prosperity  in  this  world."  And  it  is  not  accord- 
ing to  most  men's  taste  to  fast  as  Gideon  did,  to 
tear  his  flesh  by  scourges,  to  wear  strange  con- 
trivances of  wire  and  cord  which  took  the  place  of 
the  hair  shirt  which  he  had  never  seen,  to  conceal 
a  heavy  chain  about  his  waist,  and  to  bear  cold  and 
discomfort  and  bodily  pain  with  a  wonderful  en- 
durance which  came  less  from  the  thought  that 
there  was  merit  for  himself  in  what  he  did,  than  a 
possible  expiation  for  Emmy's  wrong-doing,  a  fore- 
stalling of  Emmy's  repentance  for  her  sin. 

Morbid  and  mad  the  modern  world  would  call 


246  OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON. 

him,  yet  not  unhappy,  even  when  the  reddened 
scourge  dropped  from  his  nerveless  lingers,  and  lie 
lay  at  night  with  bare  and  bleeding  shoulders 
before  the  cross,  breathing  out  shuddering,  ago- 
nized prayers — for  Emmy — into  the  silent  night. 
Yes,  it  was  all  for  her.  That  thought  gave  ecstasy 
to  every  pang  of  pain.  And  for  himself — why,  he 
was  ready  to  suffer  an  eternity  of  woe  if  he  could 
but  purchase  heaven  for  her.  It  was  a  heathen 
conception  of  his  God's  requirements,  perhaps,  and 
one  not  recognised  exactly  by  any  form  of  faith ; 
but  it  kept  Gideon  Blake  from  misery.  And  he 
did  not  think  of  the  dead  priest  whose  nature  he 
had  in  some  odd  way  inherited,  as  we  all  inherit 
from  unknown  generations  of  the  dead,  nor  ever 
figure  to  himself  that  there  had  once  been  a  man  of 
his  name  and  his  blood  who  also  agonized  for  his 
soul  and  the  souls  of  others  before  the  cross,  and 
who — happier  than  Gideon — breathed  out  his  last 
prayer  amid  the  flames  that  sealed  a  martyrdom. 

Gideon,  obeying  the  law  of  his  own  nature, 
thought  nothing  of  the  law  of  heredity.  If  he  had 
found  no  way  of  suffering  for  Emmy,  or  thinking 
that  lie  suffered  for  her,  he  would  have  gone  out 


OUT  OF   DUE  SEASON. 

of  his  mind  completely.     But  self-sacrifice,  even  of 
the  most  fantastic  kind,  consoled  him,  and  steadied 
his  whole  nature.     He  could    not  be  utterly  mis- 
erable when  he  could  pray  and  suffer  for  her  sake. 
And  thus  the  years  went  by. 


X. 

"  Let  no  man  dream  but  that  I  love  thee  still." 

JOSEPH  BLAKE  was  becoming  more  and  more 
invalided  by  rheumatism — that  scourge  of  all  who 
lived  for  many  years  at  Casterby — and  greater  re- 
sponsibilities therefore  rested  on  Gideon's  shoul- 
ders. In  spite  of  the  absorption  of  one  side  of  his 
nature  in  purely  spiritual  matters,  Gideon  was  by 
no  means  a  bad  man  of  business;  he  was  certainly 
not  enterprising,  but  he  was  conscientious  and 
hard-working,  and  it  was  well  known  that  anything 
he  undertook  would  be  faithfully  carried  out.  His 
father  had  once  been  afraid  that  Gideon  was  of  too 
impracticable  a  temper  to  succeed  as  a  master  of 
other  men  ;  but  of  late  years,  as  the  change  in  his 
character  became  manifest,  it  was  found  that  Gid- 
eon was  liked  as  well  as  respected.  He  was  scrupu- 
lously just ;  he  was  strict  indeed,  but  he  was  fair, 
and  in  times  of  trouble  generous ;  he  never  lost  his 

848 


OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON.  249 

temper,  although  he  could  say  a  word  of  keen 
reproof  now  and  then,  and  he  set  the  example  of 
unfailing  industry  and  punctuality.  Joseph  Blake 
triumphed  a  little  over  his  wife  in  pointing  out 
Gideon's  virtues  to  her. 

"  They  used  to  call  him  a  black  sheep,"  he  said. 
"  Who's  got  a  son  like  him  in  Casterby,  I'd  like  to 
know  ? " 

"  I've  nothing  to  say  against  Gideon,"  re- 
sponded Mrs.  Blake  ;  "  but  I  must  say  I  think  he's 
very  queer.  He's  that  unsociable — you  never  can 
get  him  to  go  anywhere  or  take  a  cup  of  tea  or  any- 
thing. If  I'd  been  him,  I  would  have  got  a  divorce 
from  that  wretched  woman  and  married  some  nice 
girl,  and  had  a  family  round  me  by  this  time." 

"  Gideon  don't  hold  with  divorce,"  said  Joseph 
doubtfully.  "  I  heard  him  say  so  just  after  it  all 
happened.  '  I'd  never  feel  but  what  Emmy  was 
my  wife,'  he  said,  and  wouldn't  hear  of  anything 
else." 

"  He's  very  odd  in  his  notions,"  said  Mrs.  Blake, 
tossing  her  head.  "  I  think  he's  got  a  tile  loose,  as 
people  say.  For  my  part,  I  think  it's  sheer  crazi- 
ness  to  be  so  religious." 


250  OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON. 

And  the  world  mostly  agreed  with  her. 

If  he  had  not  been  such  an  excellent  man  of 
business,  Gideon  would  certainly  have  been  pro- 
nounced a  little  mad  by  his  fellow-townsmen.  He 
did  not  talk  about  his  religious  faith,  nor  about  his 
vigils,  and  fastings,  and  penances ;  but  rumours  of 
them  got  abroad,  as  rumours  will  get  abroad  in  little 
country  towns.  They  made  him  a  remarkable  per- 
son in  the  eyes  of  the  Casterby  people,  one  of 
whom  strange  things  were  to  be  expected  at  any 
moment.  There  was  a  little  suspicion  of  him,  even 
as  a  business  man,  and  if  he  had  shown  one  sign  of 
over-cleverness,  or  given  one  hint  of  a  speculative 
turn,  he  would  have  lost  ground  at  once  and  com- 
pletely in  their  opinion  of  him.  But  Gideon  was 
so  steadily  humdrum  and  commonplace  in  his  way 
of  conducting  his  business,  so  absolutely  without  a 
ppioe  of  the  adventurous,  so  content  to  plod  along 
the  common  way,  that  he  won  approval  and  consid- 
erable confidence  from  his  father's  friends. 

There  was  a  sale  of  timber  in  the  North,  which 
Joseph  Hlake  had  been  anxious  to  attend ;  but  he 
was  too  lame  to  attempt  the  journey  when  the  date 
drew  near.  Gideon  had  to  go  in  his  father's  stead. 


OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON.  251 

The  young  man  accepted  the  charge  of  the  trans- 
action with  his  usual  gravity  and  habit  of  attention 
to  details ;  he  listened  carefully  to  all  the  instruc- 
tions his  father  gave  him,  and  Joseph  Blake  knew 
that  they  would  all  be  most  conscientiously  carried 
out.  But  for  once  he  grew  a  little  impatient  with 
Gideon.  "  The  lad,"  as  he  still  called  him,  showed 
no  real  interest  in  the  matter. 

"  Your  heart  ain't  in  this  business,  Gid,"  he  said 
reproachfully.  "  I  wish  you'd  waken  up  a  bit." 

Gideon  gave  a  slight  start. 

"  Don't  I  satisfy  you,  father  ? " 

"Eh,  lad,  you're  as  good  as  goold.  But  the 
spring's  gone  out  of  you.  At  your  age,  I'd  ha' 
thought  of  putting  on  my  best  coat,  and  having  a 
good  time  at  York.  I  don't  grudge  the  money. 
Go  to  the  best  inn,  have  a  smoke  and  a  chat  with 
the  travellers,  see  the  world  a  bit  and  enjoy  thyself. 
It  would  hearten  me  up  again  to  see  thee  do  it." 

"  But — I  shouldn't  enjoy  it,  father,"  said  Gideon 
with  scrupulous  gentleness. 

"  That's  the  worst  of  it.  Why  shouldn't  you  ? 
I  don't  think  much  of  your  religion  if  it  makes  thee 
so  gloomy,  lad." 


252  OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON. 

Gideon  stood  looking  at  his  father,  as  if  uncer- 
tain what  to  reply.  Joe  Blake  stared  back  at  him, 
with  a  vague  sense  of  uneasiness  and  inarticulate 
sympathy.  He  noticed  that  his  son's  great  frame 
was  gaunt  and  thin ;  that  his  cheeks  and  temples 
had  fallen  into  hollows,  and  that  his  bent  eyebrows 
seemed  to  betoken  suffering.  And  yet  he  knew 
that  Gideon  was  not  ill.  He  could  do  twice  as 
much  work  as  any  man  in  the  yard;  his  strength 
had  increased,  not  diminished,  of  late  years.  But 
there  was  the  stamp  of  pain  upon  his  face?  and  an 
unutterable  sadness  in  his  eyes. 

"  It's  not  religion  that  makes  me  gloomy,"  said 
Gideon,  at  last,  making  an  effort  over  himself. 
"  It's  the  thought  of — other  things." 

"  Ay,  ay !  that's  all  very  well,  Gid.  But 
you  can't  save  a  bad  woman  by  fretting  about 
her." 

Gideon  put  out  his  hand.  "Don't  say  things 
u^aiiiHt  her,  father.  It  cuts  too  deep." 

"Eli,  docs  it  hurt  still,  my  lad?"  said  Joe 
Blake,  in  a  half-pitying,  half -deprecatory  tone. 
"  You've  had  a  niort  o'  trouble  over  a  worthless 
lass.  But  there,  I'll  say  no  more.  It's  just  this — 


OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON.  253 

that  a  trouble  like  yours  didn't  ought  to  be  the  be- 
all  and  end-all  of  your  life." 

Gideon  raised  his  heavy  eyes  to  his  father's  face. 
"  I'd  give  the  whole  of  my  life  if  it  would  do  her 
any  good,"  he  said. 

"  Ay,  but  it  won't,"  said  his  father  rather  sharp- 
ly. "  It's  wasting  your  youth  and  strength  for 
naught." 

"Nay,  not  for  naught,"  said  Gideon,  turning 
away,  "  so  long  as  there's  a  God  in  heaven." 

He  seldom  said  so  much,  and  his  father  grunted 
out  a  "  Well,  well,  well ! "  as  if  he  wanted  to  put  an 
end  to  the  conversation.  But  Gideon  had  not  done. 
When  once  his  tongue  was  loosed,  there  was  a  good 
deal  that  he  could  say. 

"  She's  a  poor  lost  soul,  I  know,"  he  said,  in  the 
deep  tones  which  could  be  soft  as  well  as  deep  when 
he  was  greatly  moved — "  a  lost  lamb,  straying  on 
the  mountains,  where  nobody  can  go  after  her  nor 
find  her  but  the  blessed  Lord  Himself.  Do  you 
think  I  can  leave  off  beseeching  Him  to  find  her  and 
bring  her  home,  until  it's  done  ?  There's  not  much 
room  in  the  world  for  joy  and  pleasure  to  me  while 

she  is  still  astray.     I  can  never  forget  that  I  cared 
IT 


254  OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON. 

for  her:  I  care  for  her  still.  And  there's  no  rest 
for  me,  no  happiness,  as  the  world  counts  happi- 
ness, until  she's  found." 

"  Do  you  mean  you'd  bring  her  back  to  Cas- 
terby  ?  "  gasped  Joe  Blake,  in  consternation. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Gideon  slowly,  "  as  I'd 
ever  thought  of  ways  and  means.  I  leave  those  to 
God.  If  ever  the  time  comes,  I  shall  be  told  what 
to  do." 

He  went  away,  leaving  his  father  still  shaking 
his  head  over  these  extraordinary  notions.  Joseph 
Blake  was  troubled  for  a  day  or  two  with  the 
tli  ought  that  they  must  needs  unfit  his  son  for  the 
ordinary  affairs  of  life,  and  that  business  would  be 
badly  performed  in  consequence.  But  he  found  no 
evidence  of  carelessness  or  incompetence  in  the 
work  which  Gideon  undertook  to  manage  about 
that  time. 

The  journey  to  York  was  made,  and  the  busi- 
ness performed.  Gideon  stayed  three  days  and 
nights,  and  took  the  express  back  to  Ketford, 
whence  he  could  easily  return  to  Casterby.  About 
half-way  to  Retford,  as  he  was  sitting  in  one  corner 
of  a  third-class  railway  carriage,  looking  quietly  out 


OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON.  255 

at  the  brown  and  yellow  tints  of  the  landscape — for 
it  was  autumn  again,  and  the  leaves  were  dropping 
from  the  trees — the  accident  happened  which  thrilled 
the  country  from  end  to  end,  and  filled  the  news- 
papers with  harrowing  accounts  of  the  injuries  in- 
flicted and  the  agonies  suffered  by  the  survivors. 
But  Gideon  escaped  unhurt. 

It  happened  very  swiftly,  very  suddenly.  There 
was  scarcely  time  for  fear,  before  it  was  practically 
all  over.  Another  train  ran  straight  into  the  ex- 
press, cutting  some  of  the  carriages  into  bits,  scald- 
ing the  engineers  to  death,  setting  fire  to  the  frag- 
ments of  the  train.  Night  was  beginning  to  fall, 
and  the  gathering  darkness  added  to  the  horrors  of 
the  scene.  Gideon,  with  other  passengers  who  were 
not  hurt,  set  to  work  gallantly  to  extricate  the  in- 
jured and  to  extinguish  the  flames.  But  their  task 
was  dangerous  and  difficult,  and  some  time  elapsed 
before  medical  assistance  could  be  procured  and  the 
sufferers  conveyed  to  the  nearest  hospital. 

Gideon  toiled  like  a  giant  and  a  hero.  His 
heart  was  rent  by  the  sights  he  saw,  by  the  cries  of 
agony  that  he  heard,  but  the  pity  of  it  spurred  him 
on  to  almost  superhuman  exertions.  In  one  or  two 


256  OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON. 

cases,  even  Iris  great  strength  would  not  avail  to  free 
some  poor  creatures  from  the  crushing  mass  of  wood 
and  iron  that  pinned  them  down  to  agony  and 
death,  and  all  he  could  do  was  to  breathe  a  prayer 
into  the  ear  of  the  victims,  and  solemnly  commend 
a  passing  soul  to  God,  before  turning  away  to  help 
those  who  could  be  helped.  He  forgot  his  reserve, 
his  self-consciousness,  in  a  scene  of  this  kind.  Other 
men  looked  at  him  with  wonder  and  admiration, 
even  where  all  were  brave  and  strong ;  women  and 
children  called  to  him  for  help,  as  if  they  knew  that 
the  weak  ones  of  the  earth  had  the  first  claim  with 
him.  It  was  amongst  the  third-class  carriages  that 
there  was  most  to  be  done,  for  there  had  been  a 
merry-making  of  some  kind  at  Grantham,  and 
dozens  of  country  folk  were  returning  to  their 
homes  by  the  afternoon  train.  But  when  most  of 
these  had  been  disposed  of,  Gideon  thought  that  he 
heard  a  cry  from  the  wreck  of  a  first-class  carriage 
a  little  further  down  the  line,  and  he  turned  in- 
stinctively to  look — and  help. 

"  For  God's  sake,  come  here ! "  an  imperative 
man's  voice  demanded.  "  Nobody's  been  here  yet. 
I  shall  be  killed  before  I  can  be  got  out !  I'll  give 


OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON.  257 

you  twenty  pounds  to  get  me  out — I  can't  stir  a 
limb  ! " 

He  sank  back  with  a  groan  of  pain. 

"  Are  you  hurt  much,  sir  ? "  said  Gideon,  ap- 
proaching him. 

"  My  leg's  broken,  I  think,  and  my  side  seems 
hurt ;  but  if  you  could  get  me  out  of  here,  I  might 
feel  better.  I  heard  them  say  that  the  express 
might  come  up  at  any  moment." 

"  Oh,  we'll  get  you  out  of  here  before  that  hap- 
pens," said  Gideon.  "  Besides  there  are  men  sta- 
tioned along  the  line  here  to  stop  the  express." 

"  But  the  fire  is  breaking  out  again,"  said  the 
passenger  anxiously.  "  Look — over  there !  Can 
you  move  that  piece  of  wood  ?  Why  didn't  you 
come  before  ? " 

He  spoke  as  if  he  had  a  right  to  command,  but 
Gideon  took  no  notice.  The  man  was  in  pain,  and 
he  was  frightened,  too.  Indeed,  his  position  had 
been  one  of  considerable  danger,  for  he  was  near 
the  smouldering  engine,  and  jets  of  steam  and  flying 
cinders  had  excited  his  fears  to  frenzy. 

"  Is  there  no  one  else  to  help,"  he  said.  "  You 
can't  do  it  alone." 


25R  OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON. 

"  I  think  I  can.  The  other  men  are  "busy." 
He  bent  down  and  applied  his  great  strength  to 
the  fallen  mass  of  wood  which  lay  across  the  pas- 
sengers limbs.  A  jet  of  flame,  suddenly  springing 
up  from  the  smouldering  debris  close  by,  threw  a 
lurid  red  light  across  the  scene.  Then,  for  the 
first  time,  Gideon  saw  the  passenger's  face. 
The  voice  had  told  him  nothing,  for  it  was  al- 
tered with  fear  and  pain,  but  the  face  was  un- 
mistakable. 

Human  nature  is  strong  in  a  man  even  after 
yours  of  repression  and  conflict.  Gideon  stopped 
in  his  work.  He  had  not  yet  moved  the  heavy 
load,  but  he  drew  back  and  raised  himself  erect 
without  making  any  further  effort.  The  move- 
ment was  purely  instinctive — it  was  natural  to  him 
to  shrink  back  from  George  Hamilton — but  it 
looked  as  though  he  had  relinquished  all  intention 
of  helping  him.  George  Hamilton  thought  so,  as 
the  red  light  flashed  on  Gideon's  gesture  of  re- 
pugnance and  withdrawal.  But  he  did  not 
recognise  the  face. 

"  Damn  you,  why  don't  you  move  it  ? "  he 
broke  out  savagely.  "  You're  strong  enough  ;  are 


OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON.  259 

you  afraid  ?  You  said  there  was  plenty  of  time ; 
why  don't  you  make  haste  ?  " 

"  You  have  forgotten  me,"  said  Gideon  quietly. 
"  You  knew  me  once,  Captain  Hamilton." 

Then  the  man  saw  and  understood.  He  uttered 
a  sharp  cry  of  terror,  and  struggled  vainly  to  free 
himself  from  the  detaining  load. 

"Help!  AVill  nobody  help?"  he  shouted  as 
loudly  as  he  could.  But  his  voice  was  too  weak  to 
be  heard  at  any  distance,  and  Gideon  stood  above 
him,  a  giant  figure  in  the  lurid  gloom,  blocking  the 
way.  "  You  villain  !  you  want  to  be  my  death ! 
You  tried  to  kill  me  once  ;  are  you  going  to  try  it 
again  ? "  Then,  changing  his  tone,  "  Heavens, 
man,  do  you  see  the  flame  creeping  this  way  ?  Do 
you  want  me  to  be  roasted  alive  before  your 
eyes  ? " 

No,  Gideon  did  not  want  that.  But  he  felt 
strongly  impelled  to  walk  away  and  give  the 
wretched  man  full  three  minutes  of  misery  until  he 
could  send  other  people  to  his  help.  It  was  far 
from  him  to  condemn  even  his  worst  enemy  to  such 
a  death  as  the  one  that  crept  nearer  every  moment 
to  the  fallen  man.  But  the  old  hatred  leaped  out 


260  OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON. 

like  a  wild  beast,  and  Gideon  knew  in  his  heart  that 
he  would  sooner  cut  off  his  right  arm  than  use  it 
to  save  George  Hamilton. 

It  was  a  keen  temptation.  Not  to  kill  him,  but 
to  refrain  from  rescuing  him  with  his  own  hands — 
that  was  all.  For  a  moment  he  asked  himself  why 
he  should  be  called  upon  to  save  George  Hamilton's 
worthless,  wicked  life  ? 

But  it  was  for  a  moment  only.  The  .swift 
recoil  of  repentance  followed  instantly.  He  turned 
back  and  threw  his  whole  strength  into  an  attempt 
to  move  the  weight.  Hamilton  watched  his  move- 
ments with  pallid  face  and  shrinking  eyes.  He  was 
not  sure  whether  Gideon  Blake  did  not  mean  to 
beat  his  brains  out  where  he  lay. 

The  flame  crept  nearer.  Hamilton  could  feel  its 
hot  breath  on  his  face — it  almost  singed  his  hair. 
But  the  great  weight  stirred,  moved,  was  driven 
back,  and  then  he  fainted  and  knew  not  how  he 
was  drawn  away,  nor  how  the  succour  came  to  him 
only  just  in  time. 

"When  he  recovered  consciousness  he  was  lying 
on  the  ground  at  some  little  distance  from  the  scene 
of  the  accident,  and  Gideon  was  holding  brandy 


OUT   OP  DUE  SEASON.  261 

to  his  lips.  He  swallowed  a  little,  and  looked  round 
him  somewhat  fearfully. 

"  You  are  quite  safe,"  said  Gideon.  "  They 
have  gone  for  a  stretcher  to  carry  you  to  the  cot- 
tage hospital  at  X .  The  doctors  will  look  after 

you  there.  They  asked  me  to  wait  with  you  till  the 
men  came  back." 

He  spoke  in  short,  grave  sentences,  as  if  saying 
only  what  duty  required,  and  then  became  silent. 
Hamilton  looked  at  him  with  questioning,  awe- 
stricken  eyes. 

"  You — you  have  saved  my  life,  I  suppose,"  lie 
said  awkwardly. 

"  I  tried  to  take  it  once,"  was  Gideon's  slow  reply. 

"  If  I  can  do  anything  for  you — any  recompense 
-any--" 

"  I  think  you  had  better  say  no  more.  You 
must  know  it  is  not  possible  for  me  to  take  any- 
thing from  you." 

Hamilton  groaned,  and  turned  away  his  face. 
Perhaps  he  came  nearer  to  repentance  at  that  mo- 
ment than  at  any  other  of  his  life. 

"  Tell  me  one  thing,"  said  Gideon,  in  a  low,  hur- 
ried voice.  "  She  was  not  with  you  ? " 


2P.2  OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON. 

"  Good  heavens,  no !  I  haven't  seen  her  for 
two  years." 

"  Where  is  she  ? " 

"I  don't  know." 

"  What,  have  you  left  her  to  starve  ? "  said 
Gideon,  in  a  stern,  passionless  voice.  "  After  ruin- 
ing her  life — and  mine,  did  you  turn  her  out  into 
the  streets?" 

"  She  left  me  of  her  own  accord — I  swear  she 
did,"  Hamilton  answered  eagerly.  "If  I  knew 
where  she  was,  I  would  tell  you — though  I  don't 
suppose  it  would  give  you  any  satisfaction  to 
know." 

lie  glanced  at  Gideon's  face  ;  it  was  very  pale, 
and  the  lips  were  quivering.  Hamilton  felt  a  pang 
of  shamed  regret. 

u  I — I'm  very  sorry  I  can't  tell  you  more,"  he 
stammered  out. 

"  God  forgive  you,"  said  Gideon,  turning  aside. 
He  could  say  no  more.  "  God  forgive  rue,  too,"  he 
added  to  himself. 

His  very  love  for  his  wife,  his  hopes,  his  fears, 
his  struggles,  made  it  hard  for  him  to  speak  to  the 
man  who  had  compassed  her  shame  and  his  misery. 


OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON.  263 

Yes,  he  had  saved  his  enemy's  life,  but  his  strength 
failed  him  to  do  more.  Later,  on  the  heights  of 
a  self-abnegation  which  was  almost  sublime,  he 
blamed  himself  for  not  saying  more,  for  not  making 
some  effort  to  bring  home  to  Hamilton's  heart  the 
truths  for  which  he  himself  was  ready  to  lay  down 
his  life.  But  just  then  he  had  done  as  much  as  he 
was  capable  of  doing, — and  it  was  more  than  most 
men  would  have  done. 

Hamilton  was  carried  away  to  the  hospital,  and 
Gideon  occupied  himself  for  the  rest  of  the  night  in 
ministering  to  the  hurts  of  those  who  were  less  seri- 
ously injured,  but  still  required  care.  In  the  early 
morning  he  heard  that  one  of  the  railway  porters 
was  inquiring  for  him,  and  he  went  out  of  the  cot- 
tage where  he  had  been  tenderly  nursing  a  child 
whose  back  was  hurt,  and  found  a  man  waiting  for 
him  at  the  door.  It  was  one  of  the  men  who  had 
carried  Captain  Hamilton  away. 

"  You're  the  chap  as  pulled  the  gentleman  out, 
ain't  you  ?  He's  sent  you  this,  mate,"  said  the  por- 
ter, thrusting  a  note  into  Gideon's  hand. 

Gideon  looked  at  it  with  distrust.  "What  is 
it  ? "  he  asked. 


OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON. 

"  Dunno.  A  five-pun  note,  mebbe.  Open  it 
and  see,"  as  Gideon  made  a  movement  as  if  to  give 
it  back.  "  Law  bless  you,  I  don't  know  what  'tis." 

Gideon  opened  the  letter.  To  his  relief,  it  con- 
tained no  money,  nothing  but  a  few  words  scrawled 
in  pencil  on  a  half-sheet  of  paper : 

"Miss  VIOLET  LESLIE, 

191,  Coleman  Street, 
Westminster, 

London,  W. 
"  Try  this  address.— G,  H." 

Gideon  stood  looking  at  the  paper.  What  did 
it  mean  ?  His  mind,  dazed  with  excitement  and 
want  of  sleep,  did  not  move  quickly.  Who  was 
Miss  Violet  Leslie  ?  And  why  should  he  try  that 
address  ? 

"  Nothing  but  a  word  o'  thanks,  I  s'pose,"  said 
the  porter.  "  Them  'igh  chaps  is  sometimes  raight 
down  mean.  He  moight  ha'  been  burnt  to  a  cinder 
if  you  hadn't  come  along  in  time.  Doctor  says  it's 
nobbut  a  broken  leg  and  a  rib  or  two,  and  he'll  soon 
put  him  straight." 

"  All  right ;  tlianks,"  said  Gideon,  turning  away, 
lie  went  back  to  the  child,  who  was  already  crying 


OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON.  265 

out  for  his  strong  arms,  and  he  sat  and  nursed  her 
until  she  was  taken  away  in  a  cab  to  the  nearest 
town  by  her  father.  Her  mother  had  been  killed 
in  the  accident. 

"When  he  had  done  all  that  was  required  of  him, 
and  a  good  deal  more  (including  a  narrative  of  the 
accident  to  a  reporter,  who  published  it  that  evening 
with  a  number  of  sensational  additions  of  his  own 
composition),  Gideon  tramped  to  the  next  station 
and  took  train  for  Ketford  and  Casterby.  He  was 
shocked  to  see  his  father  waiting  at  the  station, 
haggard  and  trembling,  and  scanning  every  face  at 
the  windows  as  he  sought  news  of  his  son. 

Gideon  jumped  out.  "Father,  I'm  all  right. 
I'm  here." 

"  Thank  God ! — I  thought  you  might  be  hurt, 
Gideon." 

"  I  was  a  fool  not  to  telegraph.  But  I  never 
thought  you  would  hear  so  soon,  and  I  was  busy 
helping  the  other  folk." 

"I'll  be  bound  you  were.  And  you're  not 
hurt?" 

"  Not  a  scratch.     But  I'm  black  as  a  coal." 

He  was  certainly  very  grimy,  and  walked  stiffly 


266  OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON. 

from  fatigue ;  but  there  was  more  alacrity  in  his  air, 
more  light  in  liis  eye,  than  usual.  He  looked  as  if 
some  new  hope  had  come  to  life  within  him. 

Old  Joe  Blake  put  it  down  to  the  stimulus  of 
danger,  and  looked  at  him  with  admiring  wonder- 
ment. 

Gideon  stumbled  down  to  his  house  and  went  to 
bed.  In  spite  of  his  excitement,  bodily  fatigue 
made  him  sleep  for  some  hours  at  a  stretch  ;  and 
when  he  woke  up,  it  was  to  find  himself  famous, 
or  at  all  events  popular,  for  the  first  time  in  Cas- 
terby. 

He  had  never  given  his  name,  and  did  not  con- 
sider that  his  deeds  were  worthy  of  record  ;  but,  as 
it  happened,  he  was  known  by  the  officials  on  the 
lino,  and  "  Mr.  Gideon  Blake's  great  strength  and 
marvellous  courage"  had  been  chronicled  by  the 
ubiquitous  reporter,  and  been  transmitted  to  every 
paper  in  the  country,  much  to  the  satisfaction  of 
Casterby  and  the  confounding  of  Gideon  himself. 
People  turned  to  shake  hands  with  him  in  the  street, 
and  to  ask  him  details  of  his  adventure.  He  told 
them  that  he  had  only  done  what  any  other  man 
would  have  done,  and  tried  to  break  away  fn>;n 


OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON.  2G7 

their  congratulatory  looks  and  words ;  but  the  fact 
remained  that  many  of  the  rescued  passengers 
owed  life  or  limb  to  his  strength  and  his  endurance, 
and  were  not  slow  in  rendering  him  the  tribute  of 
their  gratitude.  He  devoutly  hoped  that  Hamilton 
at  least  would  say  nothing  about  their  meeting ;  but 
even  this  could  not  be  kept  a  secret,  although  the 
story  did  not  creep  into  the  newspapers. 

"  What's  this  about  Hamilton,  Gid  ? "  said  his 
father  to  him  a  day  or  two  after  his  return. 

Gideon's  pale  face  flushed. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ? "  he  said,  frowning  a 
little,  though  not  angrily. 

"  There  was  someone  of  that  name  in  the  acci- 
dent. Was  it — the  same  ? " 

Gideon  nodded. 

"  They  say  you  saved  him.     Was  that  so  ? " 

Gideon  was  silent  for  a  moment. 

"  If  I  did,  it  was  after  a  delay  that  might  have 
cost  him  his  life  and  made  me  a  murderer  after 
all,"  he  broke  forth  almost  defiantly.  "  It  was  no 
credit  to  me.  Don't  speak  of  it,  father,  if  you 
please." 

"  No  credit  to  him  !  "  muttered  the  old  man,  as 


268  OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON. 

he  watched  Gideon  cross  the  yard  and  begin  to  use 
his  tools  again  with  an  energy  which  showed  that 
he  did  not  wish  to  be  questioned.  "  No  credit  to 
him  to  save  the  life  of  a  man  who  has  injured  him 
in  that  way,  does  he  say  ?  "Well,  I  don't  think  I 
could  have  done  it  myself — I  don't  think  I 
could." 

The  story  got  wind  in  Casterby,  but  it  was  re- 
ceived in  different  ways.  Some  people  thought 
that,  as  Gideon  had  said,  it  did  him  no  credit.  It 
seemed  a  work  of  supererogation  for  him  to  be  the 
one  to  save  his  enemy's  life.  Why  had  he  not  let 
some  other  person  do  it  ?  Miss  Lethbury  opined 
that  it  was  hardly  decent.  And  there  was  a  general 
feeling  that  to  love  one's  enemies  was  somewhat 
poor-spirited,  and  that  it  would  have  been  more 
natural  and  reasonable  if  Gideon  had  let  Captain 
Hamilton  alone.  An  act  of  virtue  like  that  made 
ordinary  people  feel  quite  small. 

A  week  elapsed  before  Gideon  sought  his  father 
again. 

"  ( 'ould  you  spare  me  for  a  few  days  ? "  he  asked, 
with  unusual  abruptness. 

"  Spare  you  ?     Where  are  you  going,  lad  ? " 


OUT  OF  DUB  SEASON.  269 

"  I  want  to  go  to  London,"  said  Gideon,  avoid- 
ing his  father's  eye. 

Joseph  Blake  pondered  ;  then  he  looked  up  at 
his  stalwart  son,  and  noticed  that  his  very  lips  were 
pale. 

"  You've  heard — something,  Gideon  ? " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Gideon  desperately — "  I 
don't  know  what  it  means.  I  may  be  going  on  a 
fool's  errand ;  but,  for  God's  sake,  don't  hinder  me, 
father !  I  must  go." 

"  You  wouldn't — you  wouldn't — be  for  bringing 
her  back — here,  Gideon  ?  " 

"  I  should  have  to  find  her  first.  I  can't  tell. 
But  I  must  go  to  London." 

"  Can't  you  tell  me  what  you  have  heard,  boy  ? " 

"No,  I  can't;  I  don't  understand  it  myself. 
But  I  must  satisfy  my  own  mind.  I've  been  put- 
ting it  off  for  days ;  I  did  not  know  whether  I  could 
do  any  good.  But  it  seems  to  me  that  that's  not 
my  business  ;  it's  my  duty  to  go." 

"  Then  go,  lad,"  said  Joseph  Blake  kindly  ;  "  I 
won't  hinder  thee.  But  I  doubt  whether  you  can 
do  any  good." 

"  Say  '  God  bless  you,'  father,  before  I  go." 
18 


270  OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON. 

"  God  bless  you,  my  lad  !  Do  you  want  to  go 
at  once?" 

"  To-night,"  said  Gideon,  with  trembling  lips. 

But  his  eyes  were  steady  and  clear. 

The  old  man  blessed  him  again,  and  said  good- 
bye. 

Then  Gideon  went  home  and  put  his  things 
together.  lie  was  going  to  catch  the  train  that  had 
borne  him  to  London  once  before,  but  with  what  a 
different  purpose  in  his  heart!  For  then  he  had 
been  full  of  bitterness,  and  strong  in  his  desire  of 
vengeance ;  but  now  love  and  compassion  ruled  the 
day.  And  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  had  done  wrong 
in  not  going  earlier  to  look  for  Emmy ;  but  he  had 
never  thought  of  seeking  her  in  the  flinty-hearted 
London  streets. 

The  little  house  by  the  river  looked  very  gloomy 
and  desolate  as  he  turned  the  key  in  the  front-door 
and  put  it  in  his  pocket,  for  he  was  to  leave  it  with 
Keziah,  who  lived  in  a  house  which  he  would  pass 
on  his  way  to  the  station.  It  always  had  a  desolate 
look  in  autumn,  when  the  rains  had  been  coming 
down,  and  the  river  had  overflowed  its  banks  and 
stood  level  with  the  garden-beds.  The  floods  had 


OUT  OF   DUE  SEASON.  271 

been  out  again,  Gideon  remembered,  and  he  won- 
dered for  a  moment  whether  his  house  were  safe. 
His  father  had  spoken  to  him  about  the  foundations 
not  long  before.  "  I  suppose  it  will  last  my  day," 
he  said  to  himself,  glancing  back  at  it  with  a  sort  of 
sad  affection  as  he  closed  the  garden-gate.  He  had 
an  impression  that  his  "  day  "  was  not  likely  to  be 
long.  Not  that  he  thought  of  death  for  himself,  but 
he  sometimes  contemplated  leaving  Casterby  when 
his  father  was  no  longer  living.  It  sometimes 
seemed  to  him  that  there  was  a  larger  life  into 
which  he  might  enter  in  another  place.  He  might 
work  as  well  as  pray.  But  if  he  could  only  find 
Emmy  first  1  ... 


XL 

"  Love  seeketh  not  itself  to  please, 
Nor  for  itself  hath  any  care." 

GIDEON  reached  London  before  dawn,  and  em- 
ployed his  leisure  time  in  finding  a  room  for  him- 
self, and  in  breakfasting.  After  breakfast  he  sallied 
forth  to  Coleman  Street,  Westminster,  although  he 
had  a  very  dim  idea  as  to  the  reason  of  his  expedi- 
tion. He  had  concluded  in  his  own  mind  that  Miss 
Violet  Leslie  was  one  of  Emmy's  friends,  and  that 
she  had  information  to  give  him.  He  was  sur- 
prised, however,  to  find  the  house  a  squalid-looking 
place,  with  "  Apartments  to  Let "  in  the  window. 
A  red -faced,  bare-armed  landlady,  in  a  gown  that 
did  not  meet  across  her  chest,  answered  his  question 
with  a  burst  of  abuse. 

"  Yes,  I  know  Miss  Vi'let ;  who  doesn't  ? "  she 
said,  when  her  wrath  had  calmed  down  a  little.  "  A 
nice  lot  she  is,  and  does  credit  to  her  friends !  No, 

272 


OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON.  273 

she  ain't  here,  and  I  wouldn't  'ave  her  in  my  'ouse 
again  for  huntold  gold." 

"  Can  you  tell  me  where  she  is  gone,  then  ? " 
said  Gideon  entreatingly. 

"  No,  I  can't.  You'd  better  look  for  her  along 
Piccadilly ;  you'll  find  her  there  most  likely,"  said 
the  woman  with  an  insulting  laugh. 

"  Piccadilly  ? "  said  Gideon  hesitatingly. 

"  You  silly  lout !  don't  you  know  where  Picca- 
dilly is  ?  You'll  soon  find  out.  Go  there  to-night 
and  look  ;  you're  pretty  sure  to  see  Miss  Vi'let 
Leslie,  as  she  calls  herself — no  more  Miss  Yi'let 
Leslie  than  I  am." 

"  Do  you  know  a  Mrs.  Blake  ? "  said  Gideon, 
not  yet  discouraged.  "  I  think  she  is,  perhaps,  a 
friend  of  Miss  Leslie's." 

"  You're  from  the  country,  I  take  it.  You  don't 
know  much  about  London,  young  man,  that's  plain. 
Is  Miss  Leslie  a  friend  of  yourn  ?  " 

"I  never  saw  her  in  my  life.  But  Mrs. 
Blake " 

"I  don't  know  no  Mrs.  Blakes.  But  Yi'let 
Leslie — anybody  '11  p'int  her  out  to  you  if  you  go 
to  Piccadilly  Circus  at  ten  or  eleven  o'clock  to- 


274  °UT  OP  DUE  SEASON. 

night.  All  the  girls  knows  her,  an'  the  p'leecemen, 
too.  Ask  a  p'leeceman,  young  man  ;  he'll  tell  you 
where  Vi'let  Leslie's  to  be  found." 

And  she  shut  the  door  in  his  face. 

Gideon  knew  very  little  of  the  world.  But  he 
knew  evil  from  good,  and  had  seen  something  of 
both,  even  in  a  country  town.  In  Casterby,  how- 
ever, evil  did  not  flaunt  itself  on  the  pavements, 
and  smile  at  the  passers-by  from  under  the  flaring 
lamps. 

He  found  himself  at  Piccadilly  Circus  between 
ten  and  eleven  o'clock,  watching  the  crowded  pave- 
ments with  troubled,  wondering  eyes.  Girls  with 
bold  eyes  and  painted  faces  laughed  at  him  over 
their  shoulders,  and  made  jokes  at  his  expense ;  he 
was  so  manifestly  unaccustomed  to  the  scene  that 
he  was  fair  game.  Some  of  them  spoke  to  him,  or 
passed  him  with  a  flick  of  their  floating  boas,  a 
whisk  of  their  silken  and  embroidered  skirts. 

"  You  poor  child,"  said  Gideon  to  one  of  them, 
who  was  a  little  thing  not  more  than  sixteen  or 
seventeen  years  old,  "  go  home,  for  God's  sake,  and 
ask  Him  to  deliver  you  from  evil !  " 

He  got  a  jeer  and  a  laugh  for  his  pains,  and 


OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON.  275 

for  some  little  time  afterwards  he  heard  his  own 
words  passed  with  loud,  half-drunken  laughter 
from  mouth  to  mouth,  as  if  they  were  the  most 
amusing  thing  he  could  have  said. 

"  Have  I  come  down  into  hell  ? "  asked  Gideon 
of  himself. 

The  streets  were  as  light  as  day ;  the  restaurants 
were  crowded ;  men  in  evening  dress  were  coming 
out  of  the  theatres,  and  walking  slowly  along  the 
pavement.  The  road  was  crowded  with  cabs  and 
omnibuses;  the  cries  of  the  omnibus  conductors 
mingled  with  the  loud  laughter  of  the  girls  and 
women  who  walked  arm-in-arm  round  the  corners, 
hurrying  a  little  lest  they  should  be  hustled  by  the 
police.  Others  stood  motionless  in  corners,  as  if 
half  courting,  half  dreading  observation.  Now  and 
then  a  respectable  woman  hastened  anxiously,  with 
eyes  set  straight  before  her,  lest  she  should  see 
something  she  did  not  want  to  see,  towards  cab  or 
omnibus,  or  a  couple  of  Salvation  Army  lasses  came 
past  with  War  Crys  in  their  hands.  Once  or  twice 
a  "Christian  worker" — Gideon  instinctively  rec- 
ognised the  type — tried  to  speak  to  a  loiterer,  who 
generally  responded  by  a  broad  smile  and  a  mean- 


OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON. 

ingless  nod  of  the  much-curled  and  befeathered 
head.  Gideon  felt  himself  lost,  alone,  in  the  midst 
of  a  crowd  of  human  beings  whose  bodies  alone 
were  living,  whose  souls  were  dead. 

A  big  policeman  had-  been  keeping  his  eye  upon 
him  for  some  time,  and  now  accosted  him  with 
asperity. 

"  Move  on,  young  man,"  he  said,  "  if  you're  not 
waiting  for  a  omnibus ;  move  on,  please." 

Gideon  turned  and  looked  at  him.  The  man 
had  a  sensible,  honest  face. 

"  Look  here,"  said  Gideon ;  "  I  was  told  you 
would  know  a — a  lady  called  Miss  Violet  Leslie, 
and  if  I  asked  you,  you  would  point  her  out 
to  me." 

"  Don't  know  any  such  person,"  said  the  police- 
man stolidly. 

"  I  don't  know  her  either,"  said  Gideon,  "  but 
I've  lost  my  wife,  and  I  believe  Miss  Leslie  can  tell 
me  where  she  is." 

Policeman  X.  cast  a  sharp  glance  at  Gideon's 
face,  and  his  stern  brow  relaxed  a  little. 

"  I  think  I  know  the  party  you  mean,"  he  said 
cautiously,  "  and  she's  generally  out  o'  the  theatre 


OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON.  277 

by  this  time.  If  you  stand  'ere  for  a  minute  or  two 
I  might  be  able  to  tell  you  which  she  was.  She's 
one  of  the  worst  o'  the  lot.  I  wouldn't  'ave  any- 
thiiik  to  do  with  her,  if  I  was  you.  You're  from 
the  country,  ain't  you  ? " 

"  Yes,"  said  Gideon,  wondering  how  people 
found  it  out. 

"  So  I  thought  from  the  cut  of  you.  Now,  you 
take  my  advice,  and  go  'orne  again.  This  ain't  the 
plice  for  you." 

"  It's  as  much  my  place  as  that  of  most  of  the 
human  beings  I  see,"  said  Gideon,  with  a  dreary  smile. 

The  policeman  looked  at  him  solemnly.  He  did 
not  understand. 

"  You've  never  been  'ere  before,  have  you  ? 
Well,  the  less  you  see  of  it,  the  better."  He  was 
quite  paternal  to  Gideon.  "As  for  Miss  Leslie, 
she's  a  chorus  lady,  you  know ;  the  less  you  see  of 
her,  the  better,  too." 

"Indeed!" 

"She's  what  they  call  good-looking,"  said  the 
man  critically,  "  and  I  don't  say  that  she  drinks  as 
much  as  some  of  'em.  There  she  goes !  See  her  ? 
The  party  in  the  white  hat." 


278  OUtf  OP  DUE  SEASON. 

Gideon  looked.  "  The  party  in  the  white  hat " 
was  a  very  pretty  girl,  who  came  laughing  up  the 
street  with  a  number  of  companions,  mostly  young 
men.  She  was  very  fashionably  and  beautifully 
dressed ;  her  cheeks  were  rouged,  and  her  golden 
hair  was  elaborately  curled  almost  to  her  darkened 
eyebrows.  But  her  eyes,  those  blue,  still  innocent- 
looking,  appealing  eyes !  They  were  Emmy's  eyes. 

"There  she  is,"  said  the  policeman,  thinking 
from  Gideon's  silence  that  he  had  not  heard. 
"  That's  Miss  Violet  Leslie,  of  the  Comedy— 

"  Nay,  you're  wrong,"  said  Gideon,  in  deep,  in- 
dignant tones.  "  It's  no  Miss  Leslie — it's  my  wife." 

And  he  plunged  forward,  regardless  of  conse- 
quences, facing  the  girl  as  she  came  laughing  and 
singing  up  the  street. 

"  Emmy ! "  he  said. 

She  stopped  short.  It  could  be  seen  that  she 
turned  white  beneath  her  paint,  and  that  a  look  of 
fear  and  shame  came  into  her  beautiful  eyes.  He 
held  out  his  arms  to  her ;  but  with  a  shriek  that 
was  half  of  laughter,  half  of  fear,  she  put  her  hands 
up  to  her  face  and  fled,  as  if  for  dear  life,  across  the 
crowded  road.  Gideon  tried  to  follow  her,  but  was 


OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON.  279 

pulled  back  by  his  friend  the  policeman,  otherwise 
he  would  have  been  somewhat  roughly  handled  by 
the  men  and  women  who  called  themselves  Emmy's 
friends. 

*'  Lord  love  yer !  what  was  you  thinking  of  to 
do  a  thing  like  that  ? "  said  the  policeman.  "  You'd 
have  been  run  over  in  another  minute,  and  set 
upon  by  those  young  chaps  as  soon  as  you  got  into 
a  quiet  street.  What  was  you  saying — that  you 
knew  her  ? " 

"  I  said  that  she  was — my  wife,"  said  Gideon, 
gasping  for  breath. 

"  Once,  maybe,"  said  the  policeman  cynically. 
"  I'd  not  call  her  my  wif e  now,  if  I  was  you.  You 
go  back  to  the  country  and  leave  Miss  Leslie  to 
take  care  of  herself.  She's  on  the  boards,  and 
doing  fairly  well ;  but  she's  as  bad  as  they  makes 
'em,  so  I'm  told." 

"  I  must  see  her  again.  Where  shall  I  find 
her  ? "  Gideon  said,  not  heeding  the  admoni- 
tion. 

"  She  won't  come  'ere  again  for  a  bit ;  or,  if  she 
does,  she'll  maybe  ask  me  about  you.  Shall  I  take 
your  address  ?  Or  you  might  leave  a  note  for  her 


280  OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON. 

at  the  box-office  of  the  Comedy.  Then  she  can 
write  to  you  if  she  likes." 

Gideon  thanked  his  adviser,  and,  hi  spite  of  his 
warnings,  crossed  the  road  and  sought  the  turning 
which  lie  fancied  Emmy  might  have  taken  pre- 
viously. But  he  saw  nothing  more  of  her.  Too 
much  excited  to  go  home  to  bed,  he  roamed  the 
streets  for  hours,  seeing  the  signs  of  revelry  die 
away,  to  be  succeeded  by  the  stillness  of  night  and 
the  desolation  of  the  dawn.  He  thought  of  that 
other  night,  part  of  which  he  had  spent  so  miserably 
upon  the  Embankment  and  Blackfriars  Bridge.  It 
was  hardly  more  wretched,  more  hopeless,  than  was 
this. 

He  could  not  think ;  he  could  not  even  pray. 
The  old  yearning  for  Emmy's  love,  long  suppressed, 
long  ignored,  had  come  back  to  him,  mingled  with 
the  pain  of  his  new  knowledge.  What  could  he  do 
to  save  her  ?  Perhaps  she  would  refuse  to  see  him, 
to  speak  to  him,  and  what  then  could  be  done? 
But  he  would  never  leave  her ;  he  would  haunt  her 
steps,  night  and  day,  until  she  promised  to  come 
home  again. 

But  she  was  not  quite  so  obdurate  as  she  had 


OUT  OP  DUB  SEASON.  281 

seemed.  He  wrote  his  note  to  her,  imploring  her 
to  grant  him  an  interview ;  and  in  return  he  got  a 
line  written  in  the  flowing,  rather  illegible  hand- 
writing that  he  knew  so  well :  "  You  may  come 
to  see  me  if  you  like.  Ask  for  Miss  Leslie."  Then 
followed  the  address — a  house  in  a  little  slum  lead- 
ing out  of  Regent  Street — and,  by  way  of  signature, 
a  single  initial :  "  E." 

He  started  off  for  the  house  as  soon  as  he 
received  the  note,  without  the  slightest  notion  that 
he  might  not  be  welcome  at  eleven  o'clock  in  the 
morning.  He  was  kept  waiting  in  a  dirty  passage, 
where  the  paper  was  peeling  off  the  walls  in  un- 
healthy-looking patches,  for  some  minutes ;  and 
then  requested  by  a  grimy  little  servant-girl  to 
walk  up  to  the  second  floor,  as  Miss  Leslie  would 
be  there  directly. 

Gideon  went  upstairs.  It  was  a  foggy  day, 
and  the  house  smelt  close,  although  the  air  outside 
was  raw  and  cold.  At  the  top  of  the  second  flight 
of  stairs  he  saw  an  open  door,  and  concluded  that 
he  was  to  enter.  It  was  a  sitting-room,  shabbily 
furnished,  but  adorned  with  cheap  Japanese  fans, 
and  art  muslin  which  had  grown  filthy  to  the  eye 


282  OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON. 

and  clammy  to  the  touch.  The  remains  of  a  meal 
partly  covered  one  table,  which  was  also  littered 
with  gloves,  a  dirty  handkerchief  or  two,  a  brush 
and  comb,  and  a  powder-pot.  On  the  mantelpiece 
he  saw  curling-tongs,  and  cold  cream,  and  other  ar- 
ticles of  toilet ;  also  some  photographs  of  theatrical- 
looking  persons,  and  a  sticky  medicine-bottle, 
labelled  k'  The  Mixture — as  before."  One  or  two 
dresses  were  thrown  over  the  chairs,  and  a  comic 
paper  lay  open  on  the  floor. 

Gideon  regarded  the  dirt  and  disorder  of  the 
room  with  the  feeling  of  one  in  a  horrible  dream. 
He  had  bought  some  flowers  as  he  came  along,  with 
the  faint  hope  that  they  might  recall  to  Emmy's 
mind  the  innocent  pleasures  of  her  earlier  life,  and 
show  her  also  that  he  came  not  as  an  enemy,  but  a 
friend.  The  poor  tea-roses,  with  their  exquisite 
fragrance  and  bronze-green  leaves,  looked  out  of 
place  in  the  tawdry  surroundings  of  Emmy's  Lon- 
don room.  Gideon  was  half  sorry  that  he  had 
brought  them.  He  laid  them  on  the  table  beside 
the  powder-pot,  and  turned  to  see  Emmy  enter  by 
the  folding-doors  from  the  room  beyond. 

He  saw  now  that  she  was  older.     There  was  no 


OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON.  283 

paint  on  her  face,  and  there  were  dark  shades  below 
her  eyes,  and  plainly-marked  lines  round  her 
mouth.  And  there  was  the  curious  look,  half  bold, 
half  shy,  only  seen  on  the  faces  of  those  who 
have  known  what  it  is  to  be  ashamed.  Gid- 
eon would  have  recognised  that  look  if  he  had 
been  in  the  habit  of  frequenting  Piccadilly  at 
midnight. 

Emmy  was  in  a  dressing-gown  of  pale  blue,  with 
a  falling  collar  of  Breton  lace — not  very  clean — at 
her  neck,  and  frills  of  the  same  at  her  pretty, 
slender  wrists.  She  was  very  graceful,  as  she 
had  always  been ;  and  her  hair  was  uncurled  and 
hung  in  soft  waves  over  her  forehead,  much  as  it 
had  done  in  the  days  when  Gideon  had  wooed  and 
won  her  at  Casterby.  She  was  not  so  much  changed 
after  all,  he  thought ;  only  she  was  always  laughing 
— giggling,  he  might  have  called  it — as  she  had 
never  laughed  at  Casterby.  Perhaps  the  laughter 
came  from  nervousness.  She  held  out  one  slight 
hand,  and  laughed  when  Gideon  touched  it. 

"You're  not  much  altered,"  she  said.  There 
was  an  indescribable  hardness  and  boldness  in  her 
tone.  "  But  you're  handsomer,  you  know.  I  don't 


284  OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON. 

think  I  ever  noticed  that  you  were  such  a  fine  man, 
Gideon." 

The  dark  face  that  was  turned  to  her  had  a  fine- 
ness which  had  been  gained  during  the  ordeal 
caused  by  her  own  falsity.  It  had  been  sharpened 
and  refined  to  beauty ;  while  in  hers,  once  so  lovely, 
certain  lines  of  weakness  and  sensuality  had  marred 
the  loveliness  beyond  hope  of  recovery.  Yet  to 
Gideon  she  was  as  beautiful  as  ever. 

"  Emmy !  Why  did  you  run  away  from  me  the 
other  night  ?  "  he  asked. 

She  shrank  a  little. 

"  Don't  call  me  Emmy,"  she  said ;  "  it  makes 
me  feel  inclined  to  cry.  Nobody  calls  me  Emmy 
now.  I'm  Violet — Violet  Leslie,  of  the  Comedy. 
Won't  you  come  and  hear  me  sing  some  night, 
Gideon  ?  I  always  had  a  nice  voice,  you  know." 

"  I'm  here  to  ask  you  to  come  back  to  me, 
Emmy." 

"  What  rubbish ! "  she  said,  laughing  shrilly. 
"  As  if  I  should  ever  dream  of  such  a  thing !  Be- 
sides, you  don't  want  me — 

"  I've  wanted  you  every  hour  since  you  went 
away." 


OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON.  285 

"  You  have  John — your  beloved  John.  How  is 
he,  by  the  way  ? "  said  Emmy,  tossing  up  her 
chin. 

"  Emmy,  don't  you  know  ?  He  died  three  days 
after  you  went  away." 

"  Oh !     I  didn't  know." 

She  stopped  laughing,  and  bit  her  lip.  Gideon 
went  on : 

"  He  was  asking  for  you  all  the  time  he  was  ill. 
You  would  make  him  well,  he  said.  He — 

"  Poor  little  fellow  !  It  gives  me  the  blues  to 
hear  you  talk,  Gideon.  You're  just  the  same  as 
ever.  I've  had  another  since  then,"  she  said,  laugh- 
ing a  little  wildly.  "  He  died,  poor  mite  !  I  was 
rather  glad  he  died.  I  believe  he's  buried  at  High- 
gate  Cemetery.  His  name  was  Gerald  Hamilton  : 
I  always  liked  Gerald  for  a  name." 

The  pain  in  Gideon's  face  seemed  to  touch  her 
for  a  moment. 

"  Gideon,  you're  an  old  silly !  "  she  said.  "  I'm 
not  your  wife  now,  and  you  needn't  look  at  me  like 
that.  I'm  nobody's  wife,  thank  goodness.  I'm  a 
free  woman  now.  "What  lovely  roses !  did  you 

bring  them  for  me  ?     Awfully  nice  ;  I'll  wear  them 
19 


286  OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON. 

at  the  theatre  this  very  night,  and  tell  everybody 
you  gave  them  me." 

She  stopped  short  suddenly.  There  was  a  new 
look  on  Gideon's  face.  She  remembered  it  in 
anger ;  she  did  not  remember  it  in  tliis  transfigura- 
tion of  pity  and  of  love. 

"Emmy,"  said  the  deep,  gentle  voice,  "you  are 
my  wife  still.  My  dear,  I  have  not  forgotten.  As 
long  as  I  live  I  shall  never  let  you  go.  In  the 
sight  of  God  we  shall  always  be  man  and  wife. 
And  I  love  you,  dear — I  love  you  as  my  own  soul. 
Emmy,  cannot  you  love  me  again  and  come  back 
to  me  ? " 

She  was  impressionable,  easily  swayed,  and  the 
tears  started  to  her  eyes  as  she  listened  to  him. 
But  she  answered  impatiently : 

"  Of  course  I  can't,  Gideon.  It's  an  impos- 
sibility." 

"  Nothing  is  impossible,  Emmy." 

"  Nonsense  !  It  would  never  do.  What  would 
your  people  say  ? " 

"  They  should  not  have  the  chance  of  saying 
anything.  We  need  not  live  at  Casterby.  I  would 
do  anything  you  liked.  We  might  go  to  some  new 


OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON.  287 

country  where  we  should  not  be  known.  I  would 
give  my  life  to  make  you  happy,  if  only  you  would 
give  up  this — this  life  of  yours,  Emmy,  and  come 
home  to  me." 

"  So  easy ! "  she  said,  with  another  little  toss. 
"  I'm  not  good,  you  know ;  I'm  bad.  Everybody 
says  so.  A  real,  downright  bad  un.  That's  what 
they  call  me:  'an  old  offender,'  you  know. 
That's  in  the  police  courts  :  I've  been  there  ever  so 
many  times.  What  do  you  think  of  that  ? " 

"  Emmy,  I'll  kneel  to  you  to  ask  you  to  give  it 
up  and  come  with  me.  It  will  not  be  so  difficult 
to  be  good,  dear.  God  will  help  you.  And  the 
way  you  are  going  leads  to  death  and  despair — and 
hell.  I  can't  bear  to  think  of  it.  Can't  you  leave 
it — for  my  sake  ?  How  could  I  bear  to  see  you  a 
lost,  ruined  creature,  when  you  might  be  safe  and 
happy  and  good  ?  I  love  you  too  much  to  bear  it, 
Emmy :  come  back  to  me." 

He  knelt  at  her  feet,  and,  catching  her  hands  in 
his  own,  pressed  them  to  his  lips.  Emmy  resisted  a 
moment,  then  burst  into  a  passion  of  tears,  and 
snatched  her  hands  away. 

"  It's  not  only  me  that  loves  you,  Emmy,"  said 


2SS  OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON. 

Gideon,  now  fairly  embarked  on  the  pleading  words 
that  he  had  longed  to  utter.  "  The  Lord,  who  sent 
me  to  you  and  helped  me  to  find  you,  He  loves 
you,  too.  He  doesn't  want  you  to  perish  .  .  . 
poor  lamb!  ...  I  love  you,  but  He  loves  you 
more.  You  can't  bear  to  disappoint  us,  Emmy — 
we  that  have  waited  all  this  time  for  you  to  come 
back  again  .  .  .  the  lost  sheep  on  the  mountains 
.  .  .  lost  and  found  again." 

His  words  were  broken  by  sobs;  he  knelt  still, 
although  she  had  withdrawn  herself  from  his 
clasp ;  and  she,  crying  too,  was  keenly  conscious  of 
every  word  he  uttered.  Suddenly  he  broke  forth 
into  prayer — the  cry  of  a  heart  for  which  the  finite 
was  too  narrow,  which  only  an  Infinite  Love  could 
satisfy. 

"  Lord,  save  Thy  child !  Lord,  give  her  grace 
to  come  back  to  Thee.  Thou  hast  loved  her  all 
the  while,  and  I  have  loved  her  too.  She  belongs 
to  us,  Lord  :  she  is  Thine  and  she  is  mine.  Let 
her  come  back  to  us.  Let  her  know  how  much  we 
love  her,  and  what  that  love  of  ours  can  do  for 
her,  if  she  will.  Lord,  her  child  is  in  heaven  with 
Tliee- — her  children.  .  Shall  she  not  see  them 


OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON.  289 

again  ?  Thou  knowest  how  one  of  them  called  for 
her.  He  is  calling  for  her  still.  Send  her  not,  O 
Lord,  into  the  place  of  darkness,  but  bring  her 
back  to  Thyself  .  .  .  and  John  .  .  .  and  me." 

His  voice  failed  him  suddenly.  He  bowed  his 
head,  and  could  say  no  more.  But  as  he  prayed 
in  silence,  there  came  soft  arms  round  his  neck, 
and  a  sobbing  voice  at  his  ear : 

"  I  will  come,  Gideon  ...  I  wanted  to 
come  ...  If  you  can  only  forgive  me  and  love 
me  still  ...  I  will  try  to  be  good  again." 


XII. 

"  And  I  shall  claim  thee  mine  before  High  God ! " 

THE  first  step — the  rush  of  love  and  shame  and 
penitence — seemed  easy  enough ;  what  followed 
was  more  difficult. 

Emmy  shrank  back  after  that  first  reconcilia- 
tion. She  was  a  volatile  creature,  easily  elated, 
easily  depressed.  Anyone  but  Gideon  would  have 
found  her  vacillations,  her  uncertain  temper,  her 
fits  of  waywardness  and  wounded  vanity,  unbeara- 
bly trying.  But  Gideon  put  up  with  everything. 

It  was  as  if  all  the  labour,  and  toil,  and  pain  of 
his  youth  had  gone  to  the  production  of  this  one 
beautiful  flower  of  a  perfect  love.  It  was  a  love 
that  defied  anger  and  coldness  and  contempt ;  that 
flourished  on  the  very  unkindness  of  the  Beloved; 
that  wrapped  the  Beloved  round  as  with  a  gar- 
ment, as  with  the  very  loving-kindness  of  God. 

It  was  a  love  that  did  not  shrink  from  going  d<»\vn 

no 


OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON.  291 

into  the  gutter  to  seek  for  the  precious  thing  that 
had  been  lost.  And  such  a  love,  the  consumma- 
tion of  a  life-time,  the  fine  issue  of  a  spirit  finely 
touched,  is  sure  to  meet  with  its  reward. 

As  soon  as  the  stress  of  emotion  had  passed  by, 
Emmy  began  to  make  objections  to  everything 
Gideon  proposed.  She  declared  that  she  could  not 
break  her  engagement  at  the  theatre  without  a 
heavy  forfeit.  This  Gideon  undertook  to  pay. 
Then  she  said  that  she  was  in  debt  to  her  landlady, 
who  would  detain  her  boxes  if  she  could  not  settle 
the  arrears  of  rent.  Gideon  summoned  the  land- 
lady, and  paid  up  every  penny.  Then  there  were 
things  (which  she  must  have)  to  get  out  of  pawn. 
These  Gideon  sent  the  landlady  to  procure  for  her. 
Then  she  sulked  and  raved  against  her  fate,  and 
especially  the  fate  that  was  taking  her  back  to  Cas- 
terby.  But  Gideon  was  very  gentle  with  her,  and 
after  a  time  she  melted  into  tears  again  and  ac- 
knowledged herself  very  wicked,  and  begged  him 
to  forgive  her,  and  declared  that  she  would  try  to 
be  good.  She  was  more  like  a  spoilt  child  than  a 
woman,  and  if  Gideon  had  not  possessed  a  wonder- 
ful faith  in  that  supernatural  power  on  which  he 


292  OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON. 

relied,  lie  would  have  stood  aghast  at  the  light  irre- 
sponsibility of  her  nature,  and  the  difficulty  of 
making  upon  it  any  impression  which  would  last 
more  than  half  an  hour. 

He  dared  not  leave  her  alone ;  he  felt  that  she 
might  run  off  and  leave  him,  in  a  tit  of  despera- 
tion, at  any  moment.  His  only  chance  lay  in  get- 
ting her  out  of  London  as  quickly  as  possible. 
And  in  one  of  her  quieter  moods,  he  told  her  his 
plans  for  her. 

"  I  want  you  to  come  home  with  me  just  for  a 
day  or  two,"  he  said.  "  You  need  not  see  anybody 
unless  you  wish.  But  I  should  like  to  go  and  col- 
lect a  few  of  my  things,  and  there  are  some  things 
of  yours,  and  of  John's,  dear,  that  I  thought  you 
might  care  to  take.  I  would  get  my  money,  and 
we  would  start  as  soon  as  you  liked  for  another 
country.  I  have  often  thought  that  I  should  do 
pretty  well  in  Australia." 

"  It  wouldn't  be  bad,"  said  Emmy  encouraging- 
ly. "  Yes,  I  shouldn't  mind  that ;  but  I  could  not 
live  at  Casterby." 

"  You  should  not  live  at  Casterby,  dear.  You 
would  be  happier  in  a  place  where  there  was  more 


OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON.  293 

to  see  and  hear.  Nobody  would  know  us  in  Mel- 
bourne or  Sydney ;  we  could  begin  our  lives 
afresh." 

She  looked  at  him  with  eyes  that  had  grown 
thoughtful  and  pathetic. 

"  Yes,  nobody  would  know,"  she  repeated.  "  It 
would  be  easier  there." 

"  We  could  be  happy  together,  Emmy." 

"  Could  we  ? "  she  said,  with  a  little  hysterical 
laugh.  Then  she  came  to  him  and  put  her  arms 
round  his  neck  as  she  stood  behind  his  chair. 
"Who  taught  you  to  be  so  good,  Gideon?  You 
weren't  like  this  in  the  old  days,  you  know." 

"  Forgive  me  for  those  old  days,  then,  dear." 

"  Forgive  you  ?  Forgive  you !  Oh,  Gideon, 
you  are  a  saint.  I  don't  know  what  to  do  with  you, 
you  are  so  good.  And  I've  never — never  " — begin- 
ning to  weep  passionately — u  never  asked  you  if  you 
could  forgive  me." 

"  Yes,  dearest,  you  did.  And  that  is  all  over 
now." 

But  she  cried,  and  would  not  easily  be  com- 
forted. 

It  was  in  this  softened  mood  that  he  got  her  at 


294  OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON. 

last  to  start  for  Casterby.  He  would  not  have 
chosen  to  go  back  if  he  could  have  thought  of  any 
other  way  of  managing  matters ;  but  he  felt  that  he 
must  see  his  father  before  leaving  the  country,  and 
he  dared  not  leave  Emmy  alone,  and  he  knew  no 
friend  with  whom  he  could  leave  her  even  for  a 
day. 

As  they  neared  Casterby — which  he  had  ar- 
ranged to  reach  at  nightfall — she  grew  scared  and 
anxious,  pulling  down  her  veil  and  shrinking  back 
into  a  corner  of  the  carriage. 

"  You  don't  think  we  shall  see  anyone  ?  You 
don't  think  anyone  will  know  me  ? "  she  asked  her 
husband. 

He  sat  beside  her,  holding  her  cold  hand  in  his 
own,  and  trying  to  console  and  encourage  her  by 
every  means  in  his  power.  He  had  telegraphed  for 
a  fly  to  meet  him  at  the  station,  for  he  remembered 
the  times  when  she  had  grumbled  at  the  walk  home 
through  the  sloppy  streets.  It  was  raining,  as 
usual  ;  it  seemed  always  to  rain  at  Casterby. 

Emmy  sliivered  as  she  saw  the  drops  upon  the 
pane. 

"  I'm  afraid  you  are  very  cold,"  said  Gideon, 


OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON.  295 

with  solicitude.  "  Shall  we  go  to  the  Rose  and 
Crown  instead  of  our  own  house  ?  You  would  be 
more  comfortable  at  the  hotel." 

"No,"  said  Emmy;  "I'd  rather  go  home. 
Somebody  would  be  sure  to  know  me  at  the  hotel, 
and  I  could  not  bear  being  looked  at  and  talked 
about." 

"  You  would  not  be  known,  perhaps,  if  you  kept 
your  veil  down,"  said  Gideon,  a  little  hesitatingly. 

"  No,  I  want  to  go  home.  I've  a  sort  of  idea 
that  I  should  like  to  see  the  house  again — and 
John's  things,"  she  said,  with  a  touch  of  shyness 
and  sadness  which  gave  a  new  reality  to  her  words. 
"You  don't  mind  taking  me  there,  Gideon,  do 
you  ? " 

"  I  was  only  afraid  it  would  be  desolate  for  you, 
dear.  Let  us  go  home,  then,"  said  Gideon,  quietly. 

He  had  telegraphed  to  Keziah  to  put  the  place 
in  order  for  his  home-coming,  but  not  to  stay  in  the 
house. 

Emmy  half  repented  her  choice  when  the  fly  set 
them  down  at  the  head  of  the  dark  lane  leading  to 
the  little  house  by  the  river.  The  rain  fell  at  inter- 
vals, and  the  wind  was  wild  and  cold. 


296  OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON. 

In  the  passing  light  which  came  from  a  glimpse 
of  the  moon  when  the  clouds  broke  now  and  then, 
she  could  see  that  the  fields  were  under  water,  and 
that  the  river  looked  wide  and  high. 

The  flyman  gave  Gideon  a  warning  as  he  was 
paid. 

"  Floods  is  out  again,"  he  said.  "  They  say  them 
houses  down  theer  bean't  very  safe." 

"  Oli  they're  all  right,"  said  Gideon  cheerfully. 

He  had  no  fear  for  himself,  and  he  did  not  want 
to  frighten  Emmy.  If  matters  looked  bad  they 
could  easily  go  to  the  Hose  and  Crown  after  all. 
lie  gave  her  his  arm  as  they  walked  down  the  lane. 
He  could  hear  the  hysteric  catch  in  her  breath  as 
he  pushed  open  the  little  creaking  gate.  The  path 
was  very  wet  to  their  feet;  in  fact  the  garden 
seemed  half  under  water,  and  there  were  pools  at 
the  very  door  of  the  house. 

But  indoors  all  was  light  and  cheerfulness.  In 
obedience  to  Gideon's  orders  by  telegraph,  Keziah 
had  wonderingly  lighted  fires  in  the  chief  rooms 
of  the  house,  and  left  lamps  burning,  and  an  ample 
meal  set  out  on  the  kitchen  table.  Gideon's  instinct 
told  him  that  the  kitchen,  with  its  shining  brass  and 


OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON.  297 

tin,  its  red-brick  floor  and  high  black  mantelpiece, 
was  the  most  home-like  room  in  the  house.  ISTot 
yet  could  he  bear  to  sit  in  the  green  rep  parlour, 
where  he  had  watched  beside  John's  dying  bed  and 
wept  over  John's  little  coffin  before  it  was  taken 
from  his  sight.  He  put  his  wife  in  the  cushioned 
rocking-chair,  which  had  once  belonged  to  Uncle 
Obed,  and  himself  took  off  her  boots  and  her  cloak, 
waiting  upon  her  with  a  gentleness,  an  assiduity, 
which  startled  Emmy  into  quietude. 

Indeed,  she  was  very  quiet.  The  atmosphere  of 
the  old  house,  the  sight  of  familiar  objects,  seemed 
to  subdue  her.  She  did  not  laugh  any  more,  but 
looked  at  Gideon  wistfully  as  he  moved  about  the 
room. 

"  Where's  Uncle  Obed  ? "  she  asked  suddenly. 

"  He  is  dead,  Emmy." 

She  shivered  again. 

"  I  declare  I'm  afraid  to  ask  after  anybody.  Is 
your  father — 

"  He's  all  right.  He  is  rather  infirm,  that  is  all. 
I  don't  think  anyone  else  has  died  in  our  families — 
only  those,  you  know." 

"  Mother " 


208  OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON. 

"  She  lives  just  where  she  did,  and  the  children 
are  all  growing  up." 

"  Do  they — do  they  know — about  me  ? " 

lie  came  to  her  side  and  laid  his  hand  on  her 
shoulder  ;  his  silence  told  her  that. they  knew. 

"  It's  very  hard,"  said  Emmy,  weeping.  "  Every- 
one tl  links  so  badly  of  a  woman — like  me,  and  I'm 
8ure  I'm  not  worse  than  other  people.  I  suppose 
mother  wouldn't  like  me  even  to  go  near  the  house, 
nor  speak  to  Mary  and  Jenny  if  I  met  them  in  the 
street  ?  " 

Again  Gideon  was  silent  for  a  little  while,  hardly 
knowing  what  to  say. 

"  My  dear,"  he  said  at  length,  "  you  know  there 
is  joy  in  the  presence  of  the  angels  of  God  over  one 
sinner  that  repenteth — 

"  I  know  I'm  a  sinner ;  I've  been  told  so  often 
enough,"  said  Emmy.  "But  whether  I  repent  or 
not " 

She  twisted  her  handkerchief  nervously  between 
her  fingers,  and  looked  into  the  fire. 

"  We  can  talk  afterwards,"  said  Gideon,  think- 
ing it  better  to  change  the  subject.  "Come  :m<l 
cat  something ;  I've  made  the  coffee,  and  here's 


OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON.  299 

cold  meat  and  cakes  and  things.  Or  would  you 
rather  have  tea  ?  " 

"  I  think  I'd  rather  have  brandy,"  said  Emmy, 
with  a  reckless  laugh.  "  Tea  ? — wish-wash  !  Well, 
give  me  the  coffee,  if  you've  nothing  else  in  the 
house.  I  suppose  you  don't  drink  whisky  now  as 
you  used  to  do  ? " 

"•  The  coffee  is  better  for  you,"  said  her  husband 
adroitly.  "  Drink  it,  and  eat  something,  then  you'll 
feel  better." 

She  did  as  he  suggested,  but  her  appetite  soon 
failed  her.  She  sat  with  her  hands  in  her  lap, 
listening  to  the  wind  with  a  far-away  look  in  her 
blue  eyes. 

"  How  the  wind  howls  ! "  she  said  at  length. 
"  Well,  it's  more  comfortable  here  than  walking  the 
streets  in  London,  any  way.  I've  stopped  out  all 
night  sometimes — hadn't  anywhere  to  go,  you  know. 
I  used  to  think  of  you,  safe  and  warm  here  with 
Jacky.  I  did  not  know  that  he  was  gone,  of  course. 
I  didn't  think  of  you  being  all  alone."  She  paused 
a  little  and  reflected.  "  Uncle  Obed  gone,  too ! 
Have  you  been  living  here  all  the  time  by  your- 
self ? " 


300  OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON. 

"  Yes.  Since  Uncle  Obed  died — three  years 
ago." 

"  And  you  never  thought  of  getting  a  divorce 
and  marrying  again  ?  You  could  have  done,  you 
know." 

"  Not  as  long  as  I  loved  you,  my  dear." 

Emmy  laughed,  with  a  sob  in  her  throat. 

"  I  never  saw  anyone  like  you,"  she  said.  "  I'd 
no  idea  you  cared  for  me  like  that.  I  never  be- 
lieved in  a  man  being  faithful  and  true.  Gideon,  it 
makes  everything  much  worse  that  you've  loved  me 
all  this  time." 

"  Why  worse,  dear  ? " 

"  It  makes  me  seem  worse  to  myself.  I  often 
got  tired  of  it  all,  and  wished  myself  back  in 
Casterby.  But  I  thought  you'd  turn  me  from  your 
door  if  I  came  back." 

"  Never,  Emmy,  never !  So  long  as  our  Lord 
has  not  turned  me  away,  how  could  I  think  of  shut- 
ting you  out  of  my  heart  ? " 

"  I  don't  understand  all  that,"  she  said.  Then 
her  face  softened  and  her  eyes  filled.  "I  only 
understand  how  you've  cared  for  me;  and  I've  only 
you  left  now." 


OUT   OF  DUE  SEASON.  301 

"  The  rest  will  come  in  time,"  said  Gideon  pa- 
tiently. It  was  something  that  Emmy  should  under- 
stand his  love. 

Presently  she  said  something  about  going  up- 
stairs, and  he  took  her  to  the  room  which  she  had 
occupied  in  the  old  days,  where  John's  crih  still 
stood  between  the  white-curtained  bed  and  the  wall. 
Keziah  had  understood  that  a  visitor  was  coming, 
and  she  had  left  a  fire  burning,  and  aired  the  white 
sheets  that  smelt  of  lavender,  and  drawn  the  chintz 
curtains  close  over  the  window.  The  room  looked 
almost  as  dainty  as  when  Emmy  had  first  went 
away.  Gideon  left  her  there  alone. 

"  It's  quite  pretty,"  said  Emmy  to  herself,  look- 
ing round.  "  It's  all  just  the  same — just  the  same. 
He  hasn't  changed  a  thing.  Nothing's  changed, 
except — except  me.  And  John  has  gone — oh,  it 
would  be  much  easier  if  John  were  here  ! " 

For  the  loneliness  and  silence  of  the  place 
tried  her  nerves.  She  was  used  to  the  noise  and 
bustle  and  glare — she  called  it  "  life  " — of  the  Lon- 
don streets.  What  could  she  do  with  Gideon,  here, 
alone  ?  Her  heart  sank.  And  yet — yet — she 

wanted  to  be  "  good,"  as  she  phrased  it.     If  only 
20 


302  OUT  OF  DUE  SEASON. 

she  could    stand    the   dulness  of  life   alone   with 
him  ! 

Away  from  her,  Gideon  had  gone  into  that  poor, 
plain  little  room  with  the  truckle-bed  and  single 
wooden  chair,  which  he  had  used  since  liis  return 
from  London  after  John's  death.  He  looked  round 
it  with  the  feeling  of  a  monk  on  some  enforced  re- 
nunciation, some  inevitable  return  to  the  ordinary 
world.  The  rudely-carved  crucifix,  made  by  his 
own  hands,  hung  on  the  wall ;  upon  the  floor  be- 
neath it  lay  a  knotted  scourge.  Gideon  picked  it 
up  and  put  it  out  of  sight.  He  knew  that  this 
phase  of  his  experience  was  over.  There  would  be 
no  time  now  for  midnight  vigils  and  scourgings  and 
penitential  tears.  He  would  have  other  work  to  do. 
His  penance  would  consist  in  the  laborious  attempt 
to  teach  and  turn  another  soul  to  good.  It  was  a 
boon,  a  blessing,  an  answer  to  his  prayers ;  but  he 
dimly  felt  that  it  would  be  a  penance,  too. 

He  knelt  and  said  a  prayer  for  Emmy — hardly 
for  himself,  save  in  an  incidental  way.  Emmy's 
state  absorbed  him  far  more  than  his  own.  He 
would  willingly  have  bartered  his  hopes  of  eternal 
happiness  for  an  assurance  of  hers,  if  such  an  ex- 


OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON.  303 

change  had  been  possible.  It  seemed  to  him  as 
though  he  had  acquired  new  rights  over  her  soul,  as 
if  he  could  now  compel  her  to  be  "  good." 

After  a  time  he  knocked  at  Emmy's  door.  He 
was  afraid  of  leaving  her  too  long  alone.  She 
looked  up  from  an  open  wardrobe  at  which  she  was 
standing  as  he  entered,  and  he  saw  what  she  held 
in  her  hand.  It  was  a  pair  of  John's  shoes  ;  John's 
toys  were  ranged  upon  the  shelf  before  her,  and  his 
little  clothes  were  piled  in  rows  in  an  open  drawer. 
She  turned  round  with  tears  upon  her  face.  Gide- 
on came  up  to  her,  and  put  his  arm  round  her  slen- 
der waist. 

"  Ah,  thank  God  that  you  are  home  again  ! "  he 
said  passionately. 

She  laid  the  shoes  down,  and  turned  to  him,  and, 
with  a  quick,  impetuous  movement,  threw  herself 
upon  his  breast. 

"Oh,"  she  said,  "I  am  sorry;  I  do  repent, 
Gideon,  I  do — but  only  because  you  love  me.  I 
should  never  have  come  back,  if  it  had  not  been 
you  that  sought  me  out.  But  I'm  not  worth  it — 
not  worth  your  love — not  worth  the  love  of  any- 
body in  the  world  !  " 


304:  OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON. 

She  sank  down  before  him,  her  head  touching 
the  ground,  her  hands  clinging  to  his  feet,  sobbing, 
broken,  exhausted.  The  memorials  of  her  child 
had  brought  her  to  herself.  Gideon  tried  to  raise 

a 

her ;  but  at  first  she  would  not  yield  to  his  touch, 
but  dragged  herself  away  from  him,  and  sobbed 
with  her  face  upon  the  floor. 

"  I  can't  bear  it  that  you  should  be  so  good  to 
me,"  she  said.  And  after  another  interval :  "  I 
will  do  anything  you  like.  I  will  try  to  be  a  good 
wife  to  you — if  you  will  take  me  back,  and  if  I 
live  ;  but  I  think — now — I  could  die — die  of  my 
shame." 

After  a  time  he  raised  her  up  and  drew  her 
close  to  him,  speaking  comforting  words  ;  and  then, 
according  to  his  simple  creed  and  rule,  he  prayed 
aloud  for  her  and  for  their  future  life. 

"  It  may  be  hard,"  he  said  to  her  later,  as  he 
sat  by  the  fire,  and  she  crouched  at  his  side  with 
his  hand  upon  her  neck,  "  but  we  must  bear  the 
hardness  for  a  time.  We  all  have  to  pay.  When 
we  have  sinned,  it  is  the  sin  itself  that  punishes." 

"  You  haven't  never  sinned,"  she  murmured, 
touching  his  knee  with  her  hand. 


OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON.  305 

"  Millions  of  times,  Emmy." 

"  But  not — not  as  I  have,"  said  Emmy,  with  her 
fair  head  bowed  against  his  knee. 

"  Oh,  my  dear !  "  he  cried,  out  of  the  depths  of 
his  passionate  love,  "  what  does  it  matter  which  of 
us  it  was  ?  We  were  one  flesh.  When  you  went 
astray,  it  seemed  to  me  that  I  went,  too.  I  prayed 
God  to  let  me  take  your  punishment  upon  myself. 
I  suffered  with  you,  and  for  you,  all  the  time." 

"  For  me  ? " 

"  I  put  on  sackcloth  ;  I  chastened  myself  with 
fasting  ;  I  laid  your  guilt  upon  my  soul.  Child,  if 
you  had  gone  to  hell,  I  must  have  gone  too  !  I  felt 
that  you  could  not  die  alone." 

"  Oh,  Gideon,"  she  said,  "  you  make  me 
afraid ! " 

"  Afraid  of  what,  my  dear  ?  You  would  not  go 
back  to  the  old  bad  life  again  ? " 

"  I  would  die  first,"  she  said. 

He  drew  a  long  breath.  Was  she  not  given 
back  to  him,  body  and  soulj  for  this  world  and  the 
next  ?  It  was  well  to  have  lived — well  to  have 
wept  and  prayed  and  agonized — for  this  supreme 
deliverance,  for  the  glory  of  this  hour  ! 


306  OUT  OP  DUE  SEASON. 

"  What  is  that  ? "  she  cried  at  last,  lifting  her 
head. 

The  storm  had  risen  to  a  gale  ;  the  wind  howled 
round  the  house,  shaking  it  to  its  foundations. 
They  had  heard  a  strange  noise — a  crack,  an 
ominous  rending  sound.  The  walls  quivered  be- 
fore their  eyes.  Gideon  sprang  to  his  feet. 

"  The  house  is  not  safe,"  he  said.  "  The  river 
must  be  rising.  Let  us  go,  dearest,  while  there  is 
time." 

They  gained  the  head  of  the  stairs.  Then 
Gideon  put  his  arms  round  his  wife,  and  strained 
her  face  down  upon  his  breast. 

"Don't  look,"  he  said.  "Don't  be  afraid. 
Emmy,  we  shall  never  be  divided  any  more — thank 
God !  " 

And  the  rain  descended,  and  the  floods  came, 
and  the  winds  blew,  and  beat  upon  that  house;  and 
it  fell.  And  great  was  the  fall  of  it.  For  beneath 
its  rniiiH,  when  daylight  came,  the  seekers  found 
Emmy  and  Gideon,  clasped  in  each 'other's  arms. 

THE   END. 


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VENGEANCE  OF  JAMES  VANSIT- 
TART.  By  Mrs.  J.  H.  NEEDELL,  author  of  "Stephen  Elli- 
cott's  Daughter,"  etc.  I2mo.  Paper,  50  cents  ;  cloth,  $1.00. 


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NTO  THE  HIGH IV A  YS  AND   HEDGES.     By 

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"  '  Into  the  Highways  and  Hedges'  would  have  been  a  remarkable  work  of  fiction 
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1  DELIS.  By  ADA  CAMBRIDGE,  author  of  "A  Mar- 
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The  animated  and  always  interesting  stories  of  Ada  Cambridge  have  obtained  a 
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it  is  safe  to  predict  for  it  a  marked  success  among  readers  of  wholesome  and  entertain- 
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HE    MARRIAGE    OF    ESTHER.       By    GUY 

BOOTHHY,  author  of  "On  the  Wallaby,"  etc.     121110.     Paper, 
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E 


VE'S  RANSOM.     A  Novel.     By  GEORGE  GISSING, 

author  of  "  Dcn/.il  Ouarrter,"  "  The  Odd  Women,"  "  New  Grub 
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jungle  epic,  Mr.  Crockett,  Mr.  Wcyman,  and  Mr.  George  Gissing." — London  Academy. 

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pittsburg  Times. 

"  The  tale  holds  the  reader's  interest  from  first  to  last,  for  it  is  full 
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ter drawing." 

The   Trespasser. 

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"  Interest,  pith,  force,  and  charm — Mr.  Parker's  new  story  pos- 
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as  we  have  read  the  great  masters  of  romance— breathlessly." 

T)oston  Advertiser. 

"  Gilbert  Parker  writes  a  strong  novel,  but  thus  far  this  is  his  mas- 
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The  Translation  of  a  Savage. 

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'phe  Nation. 

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"  The  perusal  of  this  romance  will  repay  those  who  care  for  new 
and  original  types  of  character,  and  who  are  susceptible  to  the  fascina- 
tion of  a  fresh  and  vigorous  style." 

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NOVELS   BY    HALL  CAINE. 
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"A  work  of  power  which  is  another  stone  added  to  the  foundation  of  enduring  fame 
to  which  Mr.  Caine  is  yearly  adding."—  Public  Opinion. 

"A  wonderfully  strong  study  of  chancier;  a  powerful  analysis  of  those  elements 
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within  the  same  breast;  contending  against  each  other,  as  it  were,  the  one  to  raise  him 
to  fame  and  power,  the  otncr  to  drag  him  down  to  degradation  and  shame.  Never  in 
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HE  BONDMAN.     New  edition,     izmo.     Cloth, 

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brought  to  it  as  much  as  they  took  away.  ...  1  have  called  my  story  a  saga,  merely 
because  it  follows  the  epic  method,  and  I  must  not  claim  for  it  at  any  point  the  weighty 
responsibility  of  history,  or  serious  obligations  to  the  world  of  fact.  But  it  matters  not 
to  me  wliat  Icelanders  may  call  '  The  Fondnian,'  if  they  will  honor  me  by  reading  it  in 
the  open  h'-arted  spirit  and  with  the  free  mind  with  which  they  are  content  to  read  of 
(Jrcttir  and  of  his  tights  with  the  Troll."—  Front  the  Author's  Preface. 


c 


AI'TN    DAVY'S    HONEYMOON.      A    Manx 
Yarn.     121110.     Paper,  50  cents  ;  cloth,  $1.00. 

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alwav  that  an  auilior  can  succeed  equally  well  in  tragedy  and  in  comedy,  but  it  looks 
as  though  Mr.  Hull  Caine  would  be  one  of  the  exceptions." — London  Literary 
World. 

"  It  is  pleasant  to  meet  the  author  of  '  The  Deemster'  in  a  brightly  humorous  little 
story  like  this.  ...  It  shows  the  same  observation  of  Manx  character,  and  much  of 
the  same  artistic  t\t\\\."—Pkiladelfkia  Times. 


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novelists.  His  '  God's  Fool '  and  'Joost  Avelingh  '  made  for  him  an  American  reputa- 
tion. To  our  mind  this  just  published  work  of  his  is  his  best.  .  .  .  He  is  a  master  of 
epigram,  an  artist  in  description,  a  prophet  in  insight." — Boston  Advertiser. 

"  It  would  take  several  columns  to  give  any  adequate  idea  of  the  superb  way  in 
which  the  Dutch  novelist  has  developed  his  theme  and  wrought  out  one  of  the  most 
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one  can  not  afford  to  neglect." — San  Francisco  Chronicle. 

"  Maarten  Maartens  stands  head  and  shoulders  above  the  average  novelist  of  the 
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GOD'S   FOOL.     By  MAARTEN    MAARTENS.       izmo. 
Cloth,  $1.50. 

"  Throughout  there  is  an  epigrammatic  force  which  would  make  palatable  a  less 
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"  Perfectly  easy,  graceful,  humorous.  .  .  .  The  author's  skill  in  character-drawing 
is  undeniable." — London  Chronicle. 

"  A  remarkable  work." — New  York  Times. 

"Maarten  Maartens  has  secured  a  firm  footing  in  the  eddies  of  current  literature. 
.  .  .  Pathos  deepens  into  tragedy  in  the  thrilling  story  of '  God's  Fool."' — Philadel- 
phia Ledger. 

"  Its  preface  alone  stamps  the  author  as  one  of  the  leading  English  novelists  of 
to-day." — Boston  Daily  Advertiser. 

"The  story  is  wonderfully  brilliant.  .  .  .  The  interest  never  lags;  the  style  is 
realistic  and  intense;  and  there  is  a  constantly  underlying  current  of  subtle  humor. 
...  It  is,  in  short,  a  book  which  no  student  of  modern  literature  should  fail  to  read." 
— Boston  Times. 

"  A  story  of  remarkable  interest  and  point." — New  York  Observer. 

'COST  AVELINGH.      By  MAARTEN    MAARTENS. 

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Post. 

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nature  or  more  human  nature."—  London  Standard. 

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istic."— London  Literary  World. 

"  Full  of  local  color  and  rich  in  quaint  phraseology  and  suggestion." — London 
Telegraph. 

"  Ma.-irten  Maartens  is  a  capital  story-teller." — Pall  Mall  Gazette. 
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T/'ERNON'S  AUNT.  With  many  Illustrations. 
*  121110.  Cloth,  $1.25. 

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/I  DAUGHTER  OF  TO-DAY.     A  Novel.     121110. 

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rf   SOCIAL  DEPARTURE:  Hwu  Orlhododa  and  I 
•**•     Went  Round  the   World  by  Ourselves.     \Vith  III   Illustrations 
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A 


N  AMERICAN  GIRL  IN  LONDON.  With  80 
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Cloth,  $1.50. 

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OUND  THE  RED  LAMP.  By  A.  CONAN  DOYLE, 
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A 


FLASH  OF  SUMMER.  By  Mrs.  W.  K.  CLIF- 
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HE  LILAC  SUNBONNET.  A  Lave  Story.  By 
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escaped  us." — New  York  Times. 

1\/T  AELCHO.     By  the  Hon.  EMILY   LAWLESS,  author 
»*•*    of  "  Crania,"  "  Hurrish,"  etc.     i2mo.     Cloth,  $1.50. 

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graph we  know.  It  is  not  a  novel,  and  yet  fascinates  us  more  than  any  novel."— 
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HE  LAND  OF  THE  SUN.  Vistas  Mexicanas. 
By  CHRISTIAN  REID,  author  of  "  The  Land  of  the  Sky,"  "  A 
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Guanajuato,  Zacatecas,  Aguas  Calientes,  Guadalajara,  and  of  course  the  City 
of  Mexico.  What  they  see  and  what  they  do  aie  desciibed  in  a  vivacious 
style  which  renders  the  book  most  valuable  to  those  who  wish  an  interesting 
Mexican  travel-book  unencumbered  with  details,  while  the  story  as  a  story 
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GODS,  SOME  MORTALS,  AND  LORD 
WICKENHAM.  By  JOHN  OLIVER  HOBBES.  With  Portrait. 
I2mo.  Cloth,  $1.50. 

The  author  of  "  Some  Emotions  and  a  Moral"  presents  in  this  book  her 
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grams, but  a  complete  novel  in  which  she  has  gone  deeper  and  further  than 
in  any  previous  e  say.  Her  brilliancy  of  thought  and  style  is  familiar,  but 
her  admirers  will  find  a  new  force  in  the  sustained  power  with  which  she  has 
drawn  some  remarkable  characters  and  worked  out  an  impressive  theme. 

OG-MYRTLE  AND  PEAT.   By  S.  R.  CROCKETT. 
Uniform  with  "  The  Lilac  Sunbonner."     i2mo.     Cloth,  $1.50. 
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of  Scottish  life.    Mr.  Crockett  has  made  his  place,  and  readers  need  no  intro- 
duction to  his  work. 

TN   THE  FIRE  OF   THE  FORGE.     A  Romance 

•*•         of  Old  Nuremberg.     By  GEORG  EBERS,  author  of  "  Cleopatra," 

"  An  Egyptian  Princess,"  etc.  In  2  vols.  i6mo. 
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burg  dynasty.  Its  pages  glow  with  vivid  pictures  of  the  olden  days  of 
chivalry,  and  its  characters  are  knights,  nobles,  monks,  nun-,,  fair  maidens, 
and  the  patrician  merchants  whose  stately  homes  still  lend  their  picturesque 
charm  to  the  Nuremberg  of  to-day. 

Jl/fAJESTY.    A  Novel.    By  Louis  COUPERUS.    Trans- 
•*•*•*•    lated   by  A.  TEiXEiRA   DE   MATTOS  and   ERNEST  DOWSON. 

I2mo.     Cloth,  $1.00. 

"  No  novelist  whom  we  can  call  to  mind  has  ever  given  the  world  such  a  master- 
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AJASTER  AND  MAN.     By  Count  LEO  TOLSTOY. 

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moral,  but  the  impression  left  by  the  tale  is  none  the  less  profound. 

//'.    ZE1T-GFJST.      By  L.   DOUGALL,  author  of 
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